


I Think It’s Going To Rain Today

by Sarahhannigan



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, I'm Sorry, Kid Fic, Minor Character Death, Not Actually Unrequited Love, single dad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-03-27 09:41:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13878240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahhannigan/pseuds/Sarahhannigan
Summary: Bellamy and Gina were always seen as a perfect couple to anyone who were to look upon them.Clarke finds out one night that they weren’t. That she, unbeknownst to her, was a part of the reason why.(Or the one where Bellamy’s a single dad trying to raise two kids, and Clarke’s a highly successful lawyer who can’t handle one case in particular; her own )SEMI HIATUS





	1. I Think It’s Going to Rain Today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter within this fic will be dedicated to a song in Tom Odell’s Long Way Down Album. 
> 
> Listen to it. It’s amazing. It makes me feel things.

Bellamy’s apartment was eerily silent for just an average Tuesday afternoon. For any afternoon.

 

Usually, when Clarke arrived after her early finish from work, there was some sort of chaos enhancing the trademark destructive zone that was the Blake residence. Cartoon’s blasting on the television because a certain someone had just figured out how to use the remote, classical music crooning from the old-time stereo, yelling, chatter, screaming. There was _always_ something.

 

That’s why she was so panicked when the silence hit her. Air thick with the absence of noise. A sickening feeling gnawed at her nerves and so, frowning, she dropped her handbag onto the nearby side table and hurried further inside.

 

“Hello?” she called out, stepping into the vacant living room. Silence.

 

Surveying the area, however, Clarke began to gather up an idea as to why the place was so desolate. Scrunched up tissues littered the couch, peaking out among piles of blankets and throws. A halfhearted attempt of lunch, chicken noodle soup alongside nibbled triangles of buttered toast were scattered precariously along the edge of the coffee table. And a popsicle, red colouring dripping onto the already stained rug, melted under the soft light above. 

 

There was only one reason as to why this particular scene was played out in front of her. 

 

Sickness and the inevitable fall of Bellamy Blake.

 

The sickness dripped off every surface, cascading until it lingered in every nook and cranny of the small apartment. And if anything was to be known about the Blake’s, it was that they didn't handle being sick very well. 

 

And the fall? Well, it was evident it was coming for a while. 

 

Slipping off her extremely uncomfortable heels, and pulling down her restricting nylon stockings, Clarke tiptoed her way towards the master bedroom, almost tripping over a litter of wooden blocks and cringing when the door creaked open in a sound far to audible for it to be ignored. 

 

Bleary eyed and quietly groaning, Bellamy stared resentfully at the disturbance, softening once he realised it was only his best friend. “Hey,” he spoke, voice gruff with sleep.

 

On his bare chest his five month old son had taken refuge, held in place by his father’s left hand. His right arm was also occupied, nesting a four year old, her sniffles ruining the otherwise quiet ambience. They were both asleep.

 

“Hey,” Clarke breathed, taking a singular step forward. “Sorry to wake you.”

 

He snuffled, eyes fighting to stay open. “S’okay. I should get up soon, anyway.” 

 

“No, Bell,” she whispered, walking further into the room. Reaching out, she brushed her fingertips gently over baby Gabe’s back, feeling the feverish heat rising from his skin. “Is he giving you trouble?” 

 

It’s not like she really needed an answer. Judging by Bellamy’s show of tiredness, he was.

 

Bellamy and exhaustion seemed to go hand in hand nowadays. Gabe had been the prime example of a colic baby, crying, fussing, napping for only an hour at a time. It was a vicious cycle. And although Clarke knew Bellamy’s love for his son would never falter, she could see in his weary gaze that his hold on the entire situation was faltering.

 

He gave her an answer anyway. 

 

“Yeah,” he sighed, his own hand manoeuvring so that it rested over hers, keeping her there. “He’s been crying all day. Only just settled down like an hour ago.” 

 

“And Desi?” Clarke asked, watching as the child buried herself deeper into the crook of Bellamy’s obviously reassuring embrace. It was almost weird seeing the little girl like that, so diminished and needy and affectionate. 

 

When Gina was alive, everyday she would blame Desi’s antics on her hurricane soul, untameable and frenetic. Never did the child calm down until she deemed her whirlwind had run its course. Now though, it wasn't her deciding to call it quits. It was her withering, tiny body, screaming for peace. Exhausted like her father. 

 

“Some kid at preschool was sneezing all over the place,” he mumbled. “I had to pick her up early.”

 

But Clarke knew that wasn't all that was wrong. This sort of Bellamy wasn't her normal Bellamy. He hadn't been her normal Bellamy for a very long time.

 

With a sympathetic smile, Clarke lifted her other hand to rest it upon his forehead, pushing some wayward curls out of the way. “And you?” He was warm to the touch, obviously coming down with something too. 

 

Eyes closed, head lifting to succumb to her touch, he only took a shuddering breath. Without explicitly saying so, Clarke could tell she was speaking to a very broken man. A shell of what use to be. It was to be expected though. His girlfriend, the mother of his two children, was dead. Five months ago, the universe decided to bring a life into the world whilst also finding it necessary to take one away. 

 

“I’m just not having a good day,” he admitted as he swallowed a lump in his throat, eyelids lifting to show the tears that were being kept at bay. They began to fall, trickling down like cheeks like a leaky faucet. 

 

All she wanted to do was wipe them all away. 

 

So she did.

 

Her heart broke, but she’d seen this coming for a while. It had been building up steadily, and now it was evident that Bellamy was cracking right before her eyes, his facade that all was well had begun to falter. He’d been hiding so much, they all could tell. The dark circles and heavy bags under his eyes didn't lie though, and neither did the fridge stocked with beer. 

 

“You should have called.”

 

With a halfhearted attempt of a smile, he tightened his grip around her fingers. “It’s fine.”

 

“But you’re not,” she replied, the exact same time that Desi sneezed, startling her little brother. The baby woke up wailing, seemingly wanting to let the entire apartment complex know what he wasn't too happy about his ruined, blissful sleep. 

 

Clarke sighed and reached out, beckoning for the child to be handed to her. “Let me,” she spoke, seeing the obvious strain Bellamy was going through. “I’ll deal with him.”

 

“He’s due a feed.” Bellamy was already sitting up in bed, obviously not entirely listening to her request. 

 

“Bell,” she pushed him back down gently, eyes roaming his spent facial expression. “I’ve got this.” 

 

Despite his adamant refusal, Clarke persisted. “Rest. Sleep. Get better.” 

 

The last point wasn't really an order. It wasn't that easy.

 

And finally, thankfully, he relented, allowing her to take his son away. “Thank you,” he murmured to her defeatedly, opening his embrace so she could scoop the infant up into her arms. His eyelids were already fluttering closed, his breath evening out before she had even started rocking Gabe.

 

With a soft smile, Clarke squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, promising, “I’ll talk to you later,” before disappearing from the room. 

 

***

 

Clarke sat in the old, navy blue recliner, nursing a still fussy Gabe as she looked over the wrecked household in her surrounds, a household that had lost its innocence. Picture frames full of the blissful life prior to Gina’s passing hung upon the ochre walls. Photo’s of Desi as a baby, as a toddler, on her first day of preschool. Photo’s of the couple, Bellamy and Gina, smiling and happy, oblivious to the heartache ahead. And Clarke was certain that if the brunette was here, there would already be one of Gabe hanging in its rightful place among the others. 

 

That’s just who Gina was. Organised in her own little cluttered bubble. Funny how she never could've planned for this, for her inevitable end of life cut far too early. Gina was what made this entire situation a completely fucked up one. Because she was lively, she was a devoted mother, she was beautiful, she was partly Bellamy’s, and now she was dead. 

 

But that wasn't all. 

 

No, the worst of it? 

 

Clarke wasn't entirely that upset about Gina. 

 

But she was heartbroken about Bellamy.

 

It seemed so selfish, so cruel, but it was the truth. It was so very hard seeing her best friend like that, someone that she loved. He deserved a world of happiness and Clarke had accepted a long, long time ago that it didn't necessarily have to be her who gave it to him. 

 

It had been solely her for just a little while. And she loved it. This was when they were teenagers, young, naive, content in their own little world. They were just starting to get there, making their progression from awkward crushes to more than that. To a committed, very adult relationship. 

 

But time, as always, ran out. 

 

She was moving to Harvard, studying law to appease the high expectations of her family. And her and Bellamy fought like never before, screaming at each other because he knew damn well that wasn't what she wanted. That she would be so much happier studying art, like she always told him she wanted to do. And deep down Clarke knew that he was right, that she ought to hate Harvard and the pompous, hard please students that accompanied it. 

 

But she went anyway, to prove a pointless point. 

 

And he, well, he moved to Greece, following the dream that he had always had. A dream that was real, not influenced by those who thought they knew best for him and yet hardly knew him at all. 

 

That’s when they drifted, significantly. Five years had passed by in a blink of an eye, and when they finally decided to rekindle their friendship, make amends after years of turning a blind eye to the awful, nagging feeling of missing each other…it was seemingly too late to pursue anything more. 

 

A one-night stand of Bellamy’s ended up pregnant, and because it wasn't in Bellamy’s nature to abandon anyone fully, he stayed with her. With Gina. And they were happy. He was happy. 

 

On the surface.

 

And Clarke…she was happy for him too. A hint of jealousy perhaps, an overall sense that it should've been her instead of the brunette. But he seemed happy, like he was glad for the life that had been chosen for him. And she would've been an awful friend to allow herself to get in the way of his happiness.

 

But that happy world had shattered around him, leaving only remnants. His kids. 

 

Clarke wanted nothing more than to prove that there was still hope for him, for a blissful and fulfilling life. She was determined to prove that he was capable of achieving it. 

 

And she would.

 

***

 

The rest of the afternoon was spent trying to clean up the mess that was this life, that was this apartment. With a sling to keep Gabe content, Clarke went about clearing the living room of any messes and overall grime that came with raising kids. Dirty dishes were washed, laundry was folded, surfaces littered with inevitable germs were disinfected and just because she had time and it was getting late — she made a batch of the one meal that she actually knew how to cook. 

 

“What are you making?” 

 

Looking down, Clarke found Desi staring up at her, a stuffed fox that she had slept with ever since she was a baby cradled in her little arms. She had a head full of dark brown curls, clearly knotted from the restless sleep she had just awoken from. And her eyes were a deep brown, like her fathers. Though they were seemingly weary, too. Broken on the inside, trying to stay strong on the outside. 

 

“Mac and cheese,” Clarke answered the girls question in a soft tone, smiling gently. “Hungry?” 

 

With a definite nod she announced that she was, but not before reaching forward to wrap a strong hold around the blondes legs, burying herself into the soft material of her work skirt. 

 

Clarke’s hand fell immediately into those signature curls, smoothing them like she had done for her father hours prior. Then, leaning down, she enveloped her into a warming hug. “What’s up, Des?”

 

She knew quite well that this wasn't in the child’s nature. Usually, if you wanted a hug from her you'd have to chase her, embrace and pepper her with kisses until she squealed in delight. This though, was far more intimate. Like she needed a reassuring touch to guide her through a world so cruel. 

 

“I wish Mommy would stop being dead.” 

 

Involuntarily, Clarke’s eyes fluttered shut as she held the girl just that little bit tighter. “I know, sweetheart.” 

 

“You’re not going to go too, are you?” Desi asked, pulling away to look upon her face, to decipher her emotion. “To the stars,” she reiterated. “If you go, then Daddy will be even more sad. More sadder than he is now.” She trembled her lower lip, trying to keep the storage of tears from escaping her determined gaze. “I don't want Daddy to be even more sad. I want Daddy to be happy.” 

 

Clarke fought an internal struggle, trying, like Desi, to keep herself from crying. “I’m not going anywhere,” she finally whispered in her little ear.

 

“Promise?” 

 

Clarke pulled back, wiping away a singular tear that escaped her hold. “I promise,” and just as she the words left her mouth, she found the eyes of a despondent Bellamy standing in the kitchen doorway. 

 

Unsure of how long he had been standing there for, Clarke only offered him a small nod, a motion that Bellamy didn't offer her back in return. 

 

His gaze fell to the floor almost immediately, shuffling his feet towards the stove to dish up a serving of the macaroni. “Here Des,” he spoke in a low tone, face solemn as he passed her the meal and a fork, ruffling her hair affectionately as an afterthought. “Eat on the couch.” 

 

The youngster scurried away with one final glance over her shoulder, abiding by her fathers order.

 

“You feeling better?” Clarke asked her best friend after they were alone, noting his almost standoffish behaviour. 

 

The answer he gave her had nothing to do with the question at all. “Don’t do that.” 

 

“Do what?” Furrowing her brow, she took a small step towards him.

 

His hand lifted to rub at his jawline, chewing at his lip, holding everything in. “Don’t promise her things you can’t deliver.” 

 

She was baffled that he would even consider calling her a liar. There was no way she was ever going to leave this family ever. She loved them all too much.

 

“I was telling her the truth, Bell.” 

 

“No.” He shook his head, eyes starting to water. “Because Gina said the exact same thing when Desi was born,” voice cracking and breath hitching, he tried so hard to continue, “And now she’s dead. And now I have a little girl with a broken heart, an-” but the sentence was never finished. 

 

Bellamy finally shattered, falling to millions of tiny little pieces onto the tiled floor. 

 

Clarke was ready, as always, with the glue and tape to piece him back together again.

 

***

 

“If you want to talk, then I’ll listen. If you don't want to, you don't have to,” Clarke whispered gently. They sat at opposite ends on the couch, their fluffy socked feet intertwined with each others. “But I’m always here.”

 

It was much later that night, the kids were fed and bathed and now asleep in their respective beds. Bellamy was able to hide it from them, to read them a story and put them to bed with a loving kiss and promises for the day to follow. But once that was over, once they were completely alone, there was no running away from this. From the problem at hand.

 

Clarke stayed completely silent as she let whatever Bellamy felt like saying be said. 

 

It was the least she could do.

 

It took him a while, but eventually, “I feel like I’m drowning.” Within one sentence, he had already lost it, gaze in his lap, shoulders shaking. “And the one person that makes me feel like I can take a fucking breath, I feel so guilty for having.” 

 

He looked at her quickly in that moment, eyes glassy with the built up anguish he was struggling with, and Clarke’s heartbeat faltered. 

 

He continued. “Because everyone always use to call us the perfect couple. Bellamy and Gina—perfect. Their little family— perfect. Oh, they've got another baby on the way— fucking perfect.” He wiped angrily at his cheeks, seemingly annoyed that he was crying. “But it wasn’t, Clarke. It never was.” 

 

With a voice softer than normal, she asked him one singular question. “Why?”

 

The answer to it just about shattered her entire world, her entire existence.

 

It didn't come quickly, almost as if minutes had dripped by slowly, painfully. But then it happened. Bellamy took a deep breath, filling his lungs with courage and oxygen, letting the admission escape quickly through his parted lips. 

 

“Because if it was you that died, I’d be acting a million times worse than I am right now. And that fucking tears me apart, because even my four year old knows that I love you more than I loved her mother.”

 

Clarke just about choked, and Bellamy— he looked as though he had let something slip that he didn't necessarily intend to be known. But he never tried to take anything back, to recount the words and alter them to perhaps emphasise a point he had made unclear. No. He let them hang there, in the thick, thick air. 

 

Clarke suddenly couldn't breathe. 

 

She now knew what drowning felt like too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all honesty, I don’t fully know why I wrote this or what the hell I was thinking during the process. I’m so tired. 
> 
> It is dramatic? Yes. Is it overwhelmingly angsty? Yes. Do I care? A little. 
> 
> Seriously though, I’m not a major fan of this because I don’t even know if it was interesting to read. Please let me know what you think and If you think I should continue it. I’m completely torn. 
> 
> Xx 
> 
> Sarah
> 
> (Also this was unedited because I currently don’t have the mental capacity)


	2. Sense

Clarke needed a cigarette like a book needed words. Her fingers itched to hold the cylinder of chemicals within its lazy grasp, her lungs longing for the warm blanket of smoke that she had been accustomed to during particularly stressful cases in her career.

 

Exhaling, Clarke could only imagine it was smoke drifting past her lips.

 

It wasn’t.

 

It was only oxygen. Hard to intake, painful to exhale, plain ol’ oxygen.

 

To say that Clarke was breathless and speechless in that moment, looking at Bellamy in the state that he was in, would be a definite understatement. She no longer knew what words were, how they were created, what they sounded like when they were spoken. An alphabet was a foreign practice not used in the world she was currently living in.

 

Obviously, understandably, the silence was making Bellamy extremely uneasy and Clarke could tell. He just kept staring at her, begging within those deep brown eyes for her to say something, for her to react, for her to do fucking anything except breathe with a slack jawed, doe eyed gaze.

 

But she couldn’t. Even if she wanted to.

 

Her throat felt as though it was being forcibly shut by a rather disgruntled, superhumanly strong creature in that moment. Squeezing, squeezing, squeezing until finally, thankfully, releasing everything so she could take a much needed gasp of the air around her.

 

It set off a jolt within the man across from her, like a mousetrap snapping at even the slightest disturbance.

 

“Fuck.”

 

It had clicked for him. The seriousness of the statement.

 

“Crap. Shit. Fuck.”

 

Like a bullet cleanly shot from a gun, Bellamy stood, unintentionally kicking her feet away from his own.

 

Clarke knew that he didn't mean to hurt her in the motion, but it didn't disguise the fact that he had. Like a hand accidentally touching a hot stove, instantly she recoiled. Knees rising, she tucked them beneath her wobbling chin, watching the mess of a man through her twitching eyelids.

 

He was pacing the small space between the coffee table and the couch, hands running through his unruly curls like a comb, repeating the motion until it actually looked as though he was pulling at the strands. Maybe he was. Maybe he was doing it to relieve some of the internal pain he was feeling, hoping that the physical would take it all away.

 

It wasn't working.

 

“Bell,” she whispered, not entirely sure what she was trying to say but thankful the her brain had suddenly remembered what verbal communication was.

 

It’s not like he was having it anyway. Bellamy’s head furiously shook from side to side, shutting her up.

 

“I’m sorry,” he announced firmly, chest heaving as he sucked in all the oxygen he could manage. “I- I didn’t…”

 

Clarke eyed him wearily, overly cautious of his state right now. “Mean it?” she asked him through a whimper, trying to keep her voice steady but ultimately failing.

 

“No,” he whispered through his own hooded gaze, utterly dejected. His eyelids shut so he could pinch the bridge of his nose, trying to control his ragged breathing into one of clean, smooth, calculated intakes. “I meant it.”

 

Frozen in place, struggling to gather her whirlwind of thoughts, Clarke could only stare.

 

“I’m sorry.” Maybe he decided to leave the tear streaks marring his cheeks where they were, or maybe he didn't realise that they were there. It didn't deter from the fact that they were, in fact, there in plain sight and that he was distraught. “I’m so sorry, Clarke.”

 

Clarke wasn't entirely sure what he was apologising for. For saying it? For meaning it? All she knew was that Bellamy was hurting and she was doing nothing to stop that, nothing to help him get over the first barrier in his mission to achieve happiness.

 

He turned away from her, probably fed up that she giving him nothing in return, possibly embarrassed. So to stop him from leaving, Clarke did the only thing she could think of; she reached out, wrapped her arms around his waist, and pulled him back towards her.

 

They fell into an uncomfortable clump back against the sofa. Clarke was squashed between the cushioned backing of the couch and Bellamy’s back, struggling for composure but simply happy to be in his proximity once more.

 

Bellamy seemed unsure.

 

For just a moment it felt as though he was going to push away, free himself from her tight grasp and make a beeline for the hallway and the bedroom door that would conceal his presence from her. But eventually, he melted. He let himself be held by his best friend, succumbing to her attempt of an answer to his announcement.

 

She smothered his tiny jolts whenever a sob would escape past his lips, letting her cheek press gently against the space beneath his shoulder blades. It was funny, despite being so tightly pressed against two solid masses, this was the moment that Clarke’s body decided that she could finally breathe normally again.

 

“You’re okay.”

 

The seconds dripped by in almost silence, nothing but soft cries and gentle whispers. “Cry, Bell. It’s okay to fall apart sometimes.” She held him tighter when he did, letting him know that she right there, that she wasn't leaving anytime soon.

 

The minutes came next, even quieter. A gentle shush whenever she deemed a sob too loud, scared that he’d wake two already whiney children.

 

Then, without the knowledge of neither her nor Bellamy, an hour had fell into the void of things that could never be retrieved, but would forever be cherished.

 

The only reason that piece of information became known? Clarke’s phone rang.

 

“It’s Niylah,” Bellamy croaked, reaching forwards to grab at the device from where it rested on the coffee table. “You should take it.” 

 

Clarke’s arms that clung to his torso never loosened, she didn't want them to.

 

The ringtone droned on.

 

“Clarke,” he whispered, broken. “Please take it.”

 

Grimacing, she finally obliged.

 

The diamond ring on her left hand had never felt so heavy in that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter! I felt as though this excerpt needed its own. 
> 
> In other news, the 100 trailer has got my creative juices flowing, and thus, hopefully, the next (much longer) chapter will be out soon!
> 
> Please let me know what you think!!
> 
> Xx
> 
> Sarah


	3. Long Way Down

“I better go.” Clarke had just emerged from where she had taken the call on the balcony, closing the screen door slowly and quietly. The apartment felt significantly warmer than it earlier that day, before all of this happened. She spoke gently, eyeing him whilst also managing to avoid his gaze entirely. “I’m sorry.”

 

It seems that’s all they could apparently say to one another now. Sorry.

 

God, Clarke hated that word so much in that moment. It could be said so easily, just a movement of the lips and a slip of the tongue — and it was done, over. You said it. But only you were capable of knowing whether or not you meant it.

 

But Clarke meant it. Oh, how she meant it.

 

Bellamy nodded, standing to see her out. It was awkward, undeniably so. But it was inevitable. Neither knew what to say nor what to do. And what was there to say? What was there to do?

 

“I’ll—,” Clarke twisted her keys in her stiff fingers, eyes low as she lingered in the apartment hallway. “I’ll talk to you later, yeah?” That approached seemed like the safest option until she could gather up a more definite answer, something better to say to him. But she had absolutely no idea how long that would take.

 

With an audible gulp, Bellamy nodded again.

 

She tried so hard not to look at him in that moment, but her walls were already crumbling, her fight already diminishing. Clarke might as well have been chiseling at the foundation herself.

 

With a faltering lift of her head, her eyes finally travelled upwards. And there he was, staring at her with an despondent facial expression. His eyebrows were twitching, his teeth chewing unconsciously at his lip. Deep sadness flowed in his veins, yearning rising from his skin. Bellamy was looking at her like he wanted more, but Clarke didn't know what to give him.

 

Not yet.

 

She vocalised her concerns. “What do you want me to say, Bellamy?”

 

With a heaving chest, he ran his shaky fingers through his hair. “I don't know,” he murmured, eyes fluttering shut. He was seemingly agitated, with himself and with this situation. Maybe even with her, too. She didn't know for certain. What Clarke did know, however, was that the man in front of her was blatantly lying.

 

It clicked.

 

“Yes you do.”

 

Eyelids languidly opening, he stared. A frown was marring his brow, but it seemingly didn't bother him. Bellamy didn't have to say anything, either — she knew that she was right.

 

He wanted her to say that she loved him, too.

 

“Bell.” She shook her head and that was all it took. “I ca-“

 

He cut her off. “I know.” He nodded, eyes glazing over as he looked at her left hand. “I’m sorry, too.”

 

There was that word again. Sorry. Clarke wanted to scream but she bit her tongue, holding back. A halfhearted attempt of a smile turned melancholy, so she abandoned the try all together. She gave him a firm nod instead and after a prolonged stretch of silence, she walked away.

 

It just about killed her.

 

***

 

Clarke couldn't help it. With every streetlight and with every traffic light, the glint that would bounce off the diamond would capture her attention, leaving her prone to the occasional, highly dangerous venture to the wrong side of the road. It was on the third time, when a driver of a pickup that she had almost collided with started screaming a string of profanities at her, did she decide that it was probably best if she pulled over.

 

For everyone’s sake.

 

With blotchy eyes and a piercing headache, Clarke blinked her way towards the nearest gas station, determined to sober up her drunken state of mind. The cashier paid her absolutely no attention as she drifted lazily through the aisles, searching for nothing in particular. Simply stalling.

 

Just half an hour prior, Niylah had called asking a pretty mundane question. _Where are you?_

 

And as Clarke pulled shut the balcony door, determined to not let Bellamy hear, she told her fiancé a complete and utter lie. _I got caught up at work._

 

She’d never done that before; straight up lied to Niylah like that. Normally she would've just told her the truth. That she was with Bellamy and the kids, and that she would be home soon. It was never really a big deal before. Bellamy was her best friend and they hung out as friends did. But saying it in that moment, having just discovered the truth that her best friend had been bottling up, just felt somewhat wrong. Like there was just a hint of infidelity when Clarke knew that she was being completely faithful in her actions.

 

Her frenzy of thoughts however, was a different story. A contradiction to her actions.

 

Clarke needed desperately to talk to someone, to spill everything that was currently threatening to break her down.

 

She wanted to tell someone that her fiancé, Niylah, she loved. That they were planning to get married next June and that before today, that’s what majority of her attention was focused upon. The place in which they would say I do, the style of dress they were both going to wear, the type of flowers that were going to sprout from the antique vases that Niylah’s grandparents had gifted them as centrepieces. The wedding was this far off, magical dream.

 

She wanted to tell someone that tonight, sitting on the couch in Bellamy’s living room having just heard the news in which had slipped from his lips, something terrible had dawned on her; Clarke had been so excited about the wedding, about the little details, that she hadn't yet thought about being a bride, being a wife. A horrid realisation of something so significant — Clarke loved Niylah, but maybe not as much as she was suppose to.

 

She wanted to tell someone that she was in love Bellamy, too. She had never stopped loving him. And even if she did marry Niylah, suppressing everything that she was feeling right now, she knew that she wouldn't be able to stop. Ever.

 

Clarke grabbed a bag of Doritos from the shelf in front of her, holding it in her shaky grasp. Shortly after, just because she felt the desperate need, she grabbed another three.

 

***

 

“I was getting worried.”

 

It had been another twenty minutes before Clarke had gathered up the courage to pay for her things and leave the gas station, another fifteen to down a bag of her latest purchase in the parking lot.

 

Clarke smiled a forced and delicate smile, making her way across the living room to wrap her arms around Niylah’s shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to the side of her cheek. It was a simple greeting due to the underlying fact that Clarke was scared that her words might fail her at any second.

 

With the moment lingering for just a few seconds longer than anticipated, the hope of avoiding any explanation for her absence tonight went out the window.

 

“I thought you said this case was an easy win.”

 

“It is,” she replied easily, releasing her grip slowly. “The paperwork is a bitch, though.” Clarke was lying though her teeth and it was tearing her apart. Telling the truth now, however, would only result in more trouble.

 

Niylah turned, taking in her form. “You’re stressed.”

 

Mid way through the shaking of her head, she was interrupted.

 

“Yes you are. You smell of cigarette smoke, Clarke. And you smoke when you're stressed.”

 

That was another purchase in that dodgy gas station off the highway, a place in which she tried to gather her thoughts. Two packets of cigarettes. Much needed cigarettes. The Doritos were a decoy, something to hide the fact that she had bought them. Those pesky, addictive cylinders and their pesky, distinctive odour.

 

With a sharp intake of oxygen, Clarke raked her shaky fingers through hair. “When did you become such a detective, huh?” The blonde tried for a teasing tone but it came out accusing and demanding. She was bad at this. At lying. At deception.

 

Niylah looked taken aback, blinking through a furrowed brow. “When did you become so snappy?”

 

Clarke felt immediately awful. It wasn't her fiancés fault she no longer knew what she wanted in life.

 

“I’m sorry, Ni,” the blonde sighed, swallowing the excess saliva that threatened to warp her words. “It’s been a long day.” Her first truth since she had gotten home. It _had_ been a long day. It really, really had.

 

Niylah turned off the television and stood, walking towards the blonde. “Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Clarke almost laughed. What was there to say? _Oh, well my best friend told me he loved me a couple of hours ago and now I’m completely torn between marrying you or acknowledging the fact that I love him back._

 

“No,” she decided upon instead.

 

It hurt much less.

 

***

 

Bellamy was unsure how long he had been lying awake for, tossing and turning upon the mattress, the sheets tangling his legs, the pillows finding purchase on the floor. All he knew was that the crack between the curtains covering his bedroom window turned from showing complete darkness, to a sliver of morning light.

 

He hadn't slept a blink. Eight hours wasted.

 

Usually he treasured every minute of sleep he could get, for his kids were well known to be a hassle at bedtime and crack of dawn early risers. But he couldn't help it. How was he to sleep knowing that he possibly could've just severed the closest relationship he had ever had with a human being?

 

It was daunting stuff.

 

Lying there, sprawled across the mattress, Bellamy toyed with the idea of getting up. When he tried though, five minutes later, he couldn’t. Everything was so very heavy, and he — so very, very numb.

 

So he stayed and thirty minutes later Desi shuffled in, yawning with a scrunched up face as she peered through the open door.

 

“Hey sweetheart,” he murmured with a broken smile, sitting up as she came closer. It was the least he could do.

 

The kid crawled up onto the bed with colossal effort, letting herself be enveloped in her fathers warm embrace after she had succeeded the task. Her face pressed against the side of his neck, her soft breaths fanning out on his skin. “Hi.” Her voice was croaky, most likely due to a fact that her nose was entirely blocked. “Still sick.”

 

Bellamy mumbled something incoherent, allowing his eyes to finally shut after so many hours of being open, simply allowing himself to be with his daughter. Desi was someone that he knew, for now, would give him unconditional love whether or not he even deserved it. He cherished the moment.

 

She was his daughter. Even if he lost Clarke, at least he still had her.

 

“Am I going to school today?” Desi whispered, wrapping her arms just a little tighter around his neck. “Cos’ I don't want to.”

 

Leaning down, he pressed a lingering kiss on the crown of his daughter’s head. Her curls tickled at his nose, which only made him bury himself deeper within the wild jungle. He loved those untameable tangles. “No,” he replied gently. “Not today.”

 

“Really?” The answer honestly seemed to astound the child, pulling away to decide if her father was serious or not.

 

He was.

 

It was extremely hard to look his daughter directly in the eye sometimes, especially when she looked so similar to Gina. Sure, Desi’s hair was a shade darker and the shape of her mouth more similar to his own, but there was denying that she was her mother’s daughter. A spitting image.

 

Sometimes it killed him. Other times it made him smile.

 

“Yeah,” Bellamy replied with a soft grin, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. “Sound good?”

 

With a smile brighter than the Sirius star, she nodded.

 

“Just you and me.”

 

“And Gabe,” Desi spoke, eyeing her father. “Yeah?”

 

In all honesty Bellamy probably could've shipped his youngest off to Octavia and Lincoln’s for the day, letting her deal with his teething wrath and whiney ways. Or maybe even to Jasper, considering how last week the delinquent couldn't understand why Bellamy wasn't as fun as he use to be. A day with Gabe would've gave him a straight up answer. That baby was hard work.

 

But Gabe and his indecipherable cries were, to be blunt, a good distraction for Bellamy. A distraction from his mistakes within the last few hours, a distraction from the unforgiving nature of the outside world. And most importantly — a distraction from Clarke.

 

Bellamy nodded, answering his daughter’s question. “And Gabe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeey, 
> 
> I’m sorry this turned out to be a bit of a filler chapter. 
> 
> Please, please, please let me know what you’re thinking as any type of support is much appreciated!!
> 
> Xx
> 
> Sarah
> 
> (Also, I’m currently running on three hours of sleep and thus apologies for any stupid mistakes. Your girl is a wreck.)


	4. Hold Me

It was two weeks later when she saw him again. Two very long weeks.

 

Clarke sat upon a log by the beach bonfire Monty and Miller had set up, sipping casually at a cider when he showed up, Gabe in his arms and Desi sprinting down the dunes, a big smile on her little face as she ran towards the group. It was good to see the child looking far more livelier than the last time she saw her, but if anything Bellamy was looking worse.

 

Desi granted her a quick kiss before sprinting towards the sea with Jasper and Harper in tow, but Bellamy gave her nothing, simply a mere nod in her general direction before delving into conversation with his sister and Lincoln.

 

To say it hurt was an understatement. She hadn't wished for anything to change, but it obviously had. It was to be expected, wasn't it? Biting at the insides of her cheeks, Clarke managed to let it slide without comment, without showing how much it killed her to be ignored. Instead, with eyes low and unwavering, Clarke leant her head against Niylah’s shoulder whilst her arm wrapped around her waist.

 

The flicker of attention Bellamy gave when he noticed wasn't nearly enough.

 

Octavia shot the blonde a glance over her brother’s shoulder a minute later, obviously noting the tension, but didn't pry. That, at least, Clarke was grateful for.

 

It was around an hour later when Gabe was started squirming in his father’s arms, whining with a high pitched mewl. He’d been doing that a lot recently, unknowingly giving Bellamy a hard time. Whether it be pulling at his hair in a tight fisted grasp, jamming his tiny fingers into his mouth or doing exactly this, being an overall nuisance. Gabe knew all the buttons to push and he was only five, nearly six months old.

 

Clarke would've wished for an easy baby for Bellamy, a baby that would've brought him comfort in a world full of craziness. But that would've been too easy. Fate wasn't kind. Especially not to him.

 

“Buddy boy,” he sighed in his little ear, bouncing this son gently. “What’s going on, huh?”

 

Gabe pulled back, staring with a quizzical frown at his father. With a quivering lower lip, he seemingly tried to answer the question. But he was too young, unable to communicate with words just yet. When he realised that he couldn’t, that his father didn't understand his cries and babbles, he grew annoyed. An open hand was thrusted forward with force, slapping Bellamy right between the eyes. He probably didn't mean it, an involuntary action. It didn't deter from the fact that it happened.

 

Those within the surrounds started to laugh, teasing the obviously struggling man. And although Clarke knew that the slap didn't hurt him one bit, she could see the hurt in Bellamy’s gaze.

 

“Gabriel Atlas Blake,” he scolded, albeit halfheartedly. “We don't hit.”

 

Yet the tone only made the baby burst into a fit of screams, flailing his little arms in wild, uncontrollable movements. The opposite effect of what Bellamy was trying to achieve. Nothing he would do would stop him, either. The kid was a wreck, thrashing against the hold of his father.

 

Clarke watched from afar, the grip on her bottle of cider tightening. She could see Bellamy was openly struggling and it pissed her off that no one around him was even offering to help. Maybe it was her slightly intoxicated haze but it seemingly looked as though they enjoyed watching him suffer.

 

From across the litter of delinquents, Bellamy’s eyes found hers. A plea. God she wished that they hadn’t. Because she knew — oh how she knew that he could see the remorse in her eyes, the sympathy in her heart.

 

He swallowed, and that was all it took.

 

In a mere two seconds Clarke had passed off her drink to Niylah and was on her feet. It was second nature, she couldn't help it. He needed a hand, and it was only natural that she would oblige. With open arms, she walked towards the pair.

 

Bellamy met her halfway, an almost pained smile on his lips as he passed the infant over. “Thank you,” he murmured, rubbing at his jaw when his hands are free. “I don't know what’s going on with him lately.”

 

“Teething?” she asked him gently, repositioning the boy so that he sat more comfortably on her hip. Then, cooing at the baby to echo the same question. “Are you teething, Gabey Baby?”

 

Bellamy nodded. “Yeah. It’s been a rough few days.”

 

Clarke knew he wasn't just talking about his sons behaviour. Still, she directed it back that way. “Has he been eating?” she asked whilst reaching out, wiping away the collection of drool that threatened to drip off of Gabe’s chin with the hem of his already drenched shirt.

 

Shaking his head, Bellamy sighed. “Not well.”

 

“Have you got a bottle with you?” Swaying Gabe, he seemingly started to calm down a little, his wailing turning to whimpers. With a kiss to his blushing teeth, he quietened down even more.

 

Bellamy nodded.

 

“You want me to try?”

 

So that’s what Clarke found herself doing, sitting on the shoreline with her feet being kissed gently by the waves, Gabe contently feeding in her arms. With the baby quiet and wide eyed, staring up at her with those beautiful brown eyes of his, Clarke was finding it hard to believe something so small could cause that much disturbance into someone’s world.

 

“Why are you doing this, buddy?”

 

Innocent and overwhelmingly adorable, Gabe hiccoughed. Laughably unaware.

 

“You’re so good for Aunty’s and Uncle’s, for me.” She thumbed at his baby curls fluttering against his forehead. “Be good for your dad, okay? Promise me.”

 

Gabe did no such thing. He wasn't even speaking coherent babbles yet.

 

Sighing with a soft smile, Clarke cuddled the boy closer when she saw that he was done with his bottle. “Hiccough if you understand me. If you will.”

 

It was silly, but after just a few short seconds, he did.

 

“There’s my good boy.” The word _my_ unintentionally pulled at a certain heartstring, a thought creeping destructively into her mind. If she ever decided to call Bellamy hers, that would mean she could technically call Gabe hers, too. She could have a son. A daughter. A family.

 

“You’ll be a good mom someday, Clarke.” The voice made her jump, the person it belonged to flopping down on the sand beside her. “Kids love you.”

 

Clarke turned to Niylah, giving her the best smile she could muster. But the statement had never been more wrong. _Kids_ didn't love her. Desi and Gabe loved her. There was a difference.

 

***

 

“It’s like he has a vengeance against sleep or something. He’s tired. So tired,” Bellamy nosed at his son’s cheek, bouncing him gently as he wailed into his ear.

 

It was near midnight, his neighbours probably growing increasingly tired of these nightly antics. But at least he trying. Bellamy wasn't necessarily use to babies crying to this seemingly extreme extent. When Octavia was a baby she hardly ever cried, merely whining when she was upset or wanting attention. Desi, although cried liked any average child, was so obsessed with sleeping that he and Gina would sometimes purposely wake her just because they missed her.

 

But Gabe? Gabe threw fits unknown to man. That self-soothing technique that they raved about in all those baby classes Gina made them take when Desi was a newborn never worked. How was he suppose to let his son believe that no one would be there for him when he was upset? While it worked for some, Bellamy couldn't bring himself to do it. Every time Gabe cried he couldn't help but scoop him up into his arms and attempt to resolve his troubles.

 

So that was what he was doing know. Trying.

 

“It’s been two hours,” Bellamy continued, sighing defeatedly as Gabe grew increasingly agitated. “I don't know why the hell he's crying, O. I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I ju-,” he fizzled out, gathering some sort of nerve to spit the rest out. “I just don't know.”

 

The phone beeped its ending, killing the message he was so desperately trying to get across. Frustration overwhelmed him, his phone not so gently having been thrown onto the couch sadistically decided to piss him off further, bouncing off of the cushioned surface before thumping against the ground. Bellamy knew the glass screen had cracked long before the reveal, but as he leant down to turn it over something much more than anger flushed over him.

 

He cried with his son, crouching down upon the hardwood floor, staring at the wrecked phone. It still worked, the screen illuminating when he pressed the home button, his lock screen staring back at him. Heartbreakingly broken, he sobbed. The picture was taken on Desi’s fourth birthday. Him, Gina and their daughter snuggled beneath the duvet on the bed, each holding up four fingers as they made goofy faces at the camera. Gift wrap and opened packages littered the space around them, Gina’s baby bump just visible above the mound. Three months after that photo was taken everything changed, and yet Bellamy couldn't bring himself to swap out the image. But now, with the cracks making Gina barely recognisable, there was a sudden need to do so.

 

Blinking away the tears, Bellamy haphazardly set it to a default option and slid it across the floor, getting just a hint of satisfaction when he heard the device smack against the nearest wall.

 

The thump, however, only startled his son further. He jolted in his father’s arms and stared at him wide-eyed, his lower lip trembling out of fear as he erupted into another fit of wails.

 

“Gabe,” Bellamy whispered, cradling him tighter against his chest as he laid down. The floor was cold against his bare back but as his son breathed against his neck, burying into his skin, everything started to warm. Slowly but surely. “Shhh.” With his hands trailing his back, Gabe ever so slightly began to succumb to his tiredness. “Give me a break, huh?” Bellamy’s tone wasn't accusing, just exhausted. “I’m trying, buddy. I’m doing the best I can.”

 

The baby sniffled. Bellamy did the same.

 

“God, this would be so much easier if your mom were here,” Bellamy sighed, closing his eyes. “I know that’s not fair on you, Gabe. It wasn't your fault.” Fluffing up the fine dark hairs on his son’s scalp, Bellamy found a simple solace in the sensation. “But I miss her.”

 

Gabe cooed, grabbing at the skin covering his shoulder. It was a small comfort. A small apology.

 

Bellamy could never resent his son. It wasn't his fault. There was just too much blood, not enough replacing the high amounts Gina was losing when Gabe finally entered the world. With sweat beads trailing down her incredibly clammy, pale skin and her body wracked with shivers she grabbed his hand with remarkable strength and let him know, with one of those characteristic gentle smiles of hers, _”You’ll be fine, Bellamy.”_

 

As much as Bellamy would've liked to believe it; Right now, with his son refusing to sleep and his life seemingly crumbling around him, he wasn't so sure Gina’s faith in him was rightfully placed.

 

***

 

“Are you sure you don't want me to come up?” Niylah sat calmly in the driver’s side seat, tapping nonchalantly at the steering wheel beneath her fingers.

 

They had been out at the bar just minutes prior, a spur of the moment date night, when Clarke got the call. She was just about to answer it when it rang out, a voicemail popping up in its wake. That voicemail and said man talking into it unnerved her.

 

“No,” Clarke replied, opening the door and stepping out onto the sidewalk. It was rather cold, the wind just starting to pick up as a reported thunderstorm headed east towards the city. Wrapping her coat just a little tighter around her frame, Clarke leant in the open window. “I don't how bad it is. But um-” Clarke stared at her fiancé, with her kind eyes and small smile. She couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt standing before Bellamy’s apartment building, saying what she was about to say next. “I think I’ll stay.”

 

Niylah shared with her a quizzical frown, and Clarke couldn't help but spill. “I’m worried about him, Ni. He’s not been doing very well.”

 

“He seemed fine the other night.”

 

Clarke sighed, internalising everything. No one knew Bellamy like she did. Last week at the bonfire, while he might've smiled and joked around with his friends as normal, passing his son around to welcoming arms and laughing at Jasper’s stupid jokes, Clarke could see through his act. The way he fell into the shadows when conversation erupted, observing but not really contributing. The way he requested Miller drop him home when he decided to down another beer which took him over the legal driving limit. And the way he just about avoided her completely, never looking her in the eye when she addressed him, merely mumbling his answer.

 

“He’s wasn’t. He’s not.”

 

Eyes downcast, she swallowed and tried to give her something that resembled a smile. “Okay then,” Niylah spoke softly. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow?”

 

With a nod, Clarke reached out and squeezed her awaiting hand.

 

“I love you.”

 

Not even realising that she was faltering in her answer until Niylah blinked expectantly at her, Clarke shook her clouded mind free from the incoming storm. “I love you, too.”

 

***

 

Overly cautious, Clarke slid her key into the rickety lock of apartment 46 and pushed open the forest green door hiding away the Blake’s. Everything was dark inside, no light visible except for the street lamps shining their dull glow through the thin curtains concealing the main living room window. It was an obvious hazard, so much so that she almost didn't see the solid mass blocking her path until she stumbled over it.

 

A familiar rumble of a voice groaned, Clarke recognising it instantly.

 

“Jesus, Bell.” Knowing it was Bellamy only brought minimal comfort to her rapid beating heart. “Why the hell are you on the floor?”

 

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Clarke noticed that it wasn't just her best friend sprawled across the wood. Gabe was there too, blinking tiredly at the disturbance that had so rudely interrupted whatever moment he and his father were having.

 

“It was comfortable,” Bellamy muttered. “Until you decided to step on me.”

 

Sitting up, Gabe grew discontented with the movement. He began to whine and without a second thought, Clarke and Bellamy synced. Gabe was transferred between bodies, being shushed gently by Clarke whilst the latter stood from his seemingly random spot where he had been resting.

 

He frowned, hands running through his unruly hair. “I called O.”

 

“No.” With her cheek pressed against the baby’s, she looked upon the man standing opposite her. Rugged and weary, slouched forward and swaying ever so slightly, Bellamy was a walking wreck. “You called me.”

 

“I mean’t to call O,” he began before seemingly fizzling out as he furrowed his brow.

 

Clarke watched him, noting how he still wouldn't look her in the eye. “Well, I’m here now.” Gabe fisted at her hair and although it hurt, Clarke showed no physical signs of the pain. Instead, she gently untangled his tiny fingers and kissed them when his lower lip began to tremble. Quietening down, Gabe’s seemingly heavy head fell upon her shoulder. “What do you need me to do?”

 

“That.” With a quizzical look from Clarke, he reiterated. “I’m a little drunk, Clarke. And I can’t give him what he wants.”

 

Again, Clarke thought to herself, there was an increasing trend in his intake of alcohol.

 

“What does he want?”

 

With a shuddering intake of breath, Bellamy pinched at the bridge of his nose. “I don't know.” She could see he was growing increasingly frustrated with himself, his face twisting in anguish. “Clarke, I’m so tired that I don't even know anymore.”

 

She knew it was bad. Not this bad.

 

“Have a shower then go to bed. Let me deal with this.”

 

But he just stood there, not making any move to leave. With further inspection Clarke noticed that he wasn't staring at nothing and doing nothing. He was looking at Gabe. In particular, her and Gabe together. His head tilted, surveying the way in which his son had calmed in her embrace.

 

“Bell?” she asked him quietly, chewing at her lip. “Did you hear me?”

 

“My own son doesn't like me,” he breathed back, as if coming to a mind boggling realisation.

 

Clarke shook her head, preparing herself by closing her eyes. “Yes he does.”

 

“How do you know that?” He wasn't sounding accusing, merely interested. “Seriously?”

 

Clarke sighed, switching Gabe onto her left side when the position became too uncomfortable. “Because you're his dad.”

 

“That doesn't mean anything.” Swallowing, Bellamy took a step forward, just a hint of reluctance before he reached out and trailed his hand gently over his son’s back. “I have a father and I don't love him.”

 

And honestly, what was she to say to that? It took her a while, some construction of a carefully worded answer. “You are not your father, Bellamy. No father I know compares to you. You love your kids and they definitely love you back. There will never be any doubt about that, okay?”

 

He seemingly still looked as though he was unsure, even though he nodded.

 

Clarke continued. “You’re just going through a rough patch right now. It’ll pass.” When his gaze fell she grabbed him by the forearm with her free hand and averted his attention back to her. “You called someone tonight…that’s a good thing, Bell. You reached out and you mightn't have meant to call me,” the blonde tried for a smile, “but I’m glad you did.”

 

He stood there, fully taking her in for what felt like the first time in eons. Trailing her facial features, his eyes bore into hers.

 

“Have a shower while I put this little munchkin to bed?”

 

A curt nod, a quick kiss to Gabe’s head and then he was gone.

 

Clarke got to work.

 

***

 

“He go down alright?”

 

Clarke turned from her perch on the couch, taking her best friend in. His hair was slightly damp, dripping occasionally onto his grey henley. The patchy stubble that had been growing steadily on his chin and cheeks was gone, replaced by that smooth boyish bare skin that she had grown to love. And overall, he was looking just a little bit more like her Bellamy. All except for the blackness marring the skin under his eyes.

 

“Perfectly,” Clarke replied, smiling gently. “Three verses of Penny Lane and he was out like a light.”

 

He nodded, at least trying for a smile. “Good.” Still looking a little weary, Bellamy eyed at the spot on the couch next to her. “You staying?”

 

Clarke had already gathered up the various blankets scattered around the living room, even stealing a pillow from Bellamy’s bed in order to set up a makeshift one for her own. It was a far cry from her bed at home, but it would do for the night. Nodding, she asked him, “Is that okay?”

 

He said it would be. His answer would always be yes. Taking a step forward, Bellamy rubbed at the back of his neck and suppressed a yawn. “You don't want my bed?”

 

While the question was a relatively mundane one, there was no denying the skip in her heartbeat when he asked it. Regardless, she shook her head and sighed. “No, you’re exhausted. You need it more than me. Go,” Clarke urged him softly when he didn't react accordingly. “Go to bed. Sleep.”

 

Surprisingly, Bellamy huffed a laugh at that. “I don't do that anymore.” Shuffling forward, he collapsed down beside her, his arm automatically resting on the back of the chair behind her. He had always done it, but it felt somewhat different now. “You still an insomniac, Clarke?”

 

She looked at him quizzically before she nodded.

 

“Wanna watch a documentary?”

 

Clarke knew that they should’ve been talking about him, about how he was obviously struggling, obviously needing help. But his eyes were so hopeful under the soft lighting, his mouth quirking into just a hint of the familiar smirk that she knew so well. How was she supposed to say no?

 

She obliged and roughly three hours later, Clarke never regretted a decision more. Because she awoke with a sleeping Bellamy Blake in her arms, and every fibre of her being was screaming for her to never let him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3695 words most likely full of mistakes and mishaps because school is currently trying to kill me but I still wanted to publish a chapter. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Xx A very tired Sarah. 
> 
> (Haphazardly edited because I’m a mess and I need a beta)


	5. Storms

Bellamy felt so much different pressed against him than Niylah did. 

 

Niylah was lean and long, all protruding edges and sharp points. Her long hair tickled at her nose, and when Clarke breathed her in she smelt of that expensive rose scented shampoo she loved and peppermint tea. Clarke was always the little spoon, getting comfort from someone else holding her. Tight. Like were never going to let go. So that’s what Niylah did, wrapped her arms around her and clung to her back like a possessive koala. In all, their cuddles were warm. Soft. A comfort when the days were long and nights not long enough. 

 

Clarke took in a short intake of the air that felt so constricting, and was overwhelmed with a foreboding sense of home. Of Bellamy. The hint of barley of his breath from all the beers he had downed, a smidgen of the same deodorant he used since high school and the faintness of baby powder. He was warm against her, so warm. Perhaps that’s why she had subconsciously pulled him so impossibly close to herself. His head was on her chest, heavy but not unwelcome. Squished upon the relatively thin couch, half of his body had just about fallen off of the edge. It was her keeping him grounded. Her keeping him against her. A blissful feeling that he was hers and hers alone flushed over her. For just a few seconds, she let herself bask in it all. 

 

That time passed too quickly, as it seemingly always did. Because Clarke realised she hadn't woken up by chance, by the thrashing wind outside or by the crying of a child. But rather by a voice. By Bellamy’s voice, the air that left his parted lips whenever he murmured a word fanning against her bare neck. 

 

“No.” 

 

At first she thought that maybe he was awake, trying to have a conversation with her. Upon further inspection however, she discovered that she was wrong. That he was still asleep, unaware of the real world he was apparently being held from. And that he was seemingly distressed.

 

“No. No, please.” 

 

His words were chopped and jagged. Like a shattered plate that had been put together with only some of the ceramic pieces being rearranged in their correct spots. One thing was for certain, even if she couldn't interpret all of his sentences, Bellamy was in pain. Not physical. Everything other than physical. 

 

He ceased for only a moment, as if gathering his crazy, subconscious thoughts. And then they all fell out in a busted heap. A breathless collective of strewn together words. 

 

“I can’t. No, no, no. Please. Please, Gina.” A ragged breath. “Think. Desi.” A broken sob. “Don’t go.” 

 

“Shhhh.” Clarke couldn't help it, her fingers fell into his curls and massaged his scalp gently. It calmed him instantly, his words slurring then stopping all together. “You’re okay,” she whispered, trying to keep her voice as steady as she could. “Everything’s okay.” 

 

An upright lie. Nothing was okay. 

 

He shivered, breathing torn and Clarke couldn't help but hold him closer, one hand in his hair and the other trailing the length of his back. A part of her believed that perhaps she shouldn't have been doing this, holding someone so close, so intimately whilst her fiancé slept unknowingly in their bed. But that was quickly outweighed with that feeling of endearment, that feeling of need and that feeling, that underlying goddamn feeling that he felt so goddamn perfect against her. 

 

She shushed him when he started up again, staring up at the ceiling. Why was it that her and Bellamy couldn't figure things out all those years ago? They had a fighting chance and let it slip away, like water escaping through leak in the bottom of a bucket. It ran out. It was wasted. All because they were stupid and naive, they wouldn't yet understand the wrongs they made. 

 

Lying there now, with her best friend pressed against her and another’s ring on her finger — Clarke could have only imagined her life if her teenage self had’ve just admitted he was right, pursued art like she wanted and inevitably pursue one another at the same time.

 

Life would've been so much simpler. They would've been happy. 

 

Sometimes when Clarke grew reminiscent, she thought about those easier times. Time before their fallout about their future together. Time in which passed by perfectly, without warp nor speed. Blissful times. 

 

Grabbing takeout after school with the gang, talking about nothing and everything whilst making a nuisance in whatever carpark they didn't get kicked out of. Sunbathing by the side of Jasper’s pool, sweating under the sweltering summer sun, only to find some relief when one of the boys decided to bring out the water guns. Though it was never discussed, Bellamy would always target her and her alone, with Clarke squealing just that little bit louder because she knew how much Bellamy loved it, how his smile lit up when swore shallow profanities at him. Just overall being with the young delinquents and taking everyday for granted.

 

And then there was the times they just spent together. Alone. Bellamy and Clarke in a bubble of their own. Chucking popcorn at one another in the back row of the cinema when a shitty movie played on the big screen. Studying for finals in the library, bleary eyed and exhausted, running on caffeine and a yearning to get good grades. When it was closing time they would trudge themselves home, genetically closer to moths than human beings but always in hand. What one did they both did, even if it meant frying their brains. 

 

But laughing at a crappy movie or studying for a test was mere child’s play. The harder times were the times in which their relationship flourished and strengthened. Like whenever Aurora relapsed. He’d text her in the middle of the night, needing nothing more than to get away from Arkadia for just a little while. Time to clear his head, to regather his thoughts. So she’d slip out the window as quietly as she could and run across the lawn, sliding into the passenger side of his pickup without a moments hesitation. She’d eye Bellamy’s tear streaked cheeks, his nostrils flaring and the way he gripped the steering wheel in a white knuckled grip, but she wouldn't say anything. Clarke would just let him drive and drive until he was satisfied. A 24 hour diner in the next town over, an empty Target parking lot or a secluded lakeside park — it didn't matter the place, just the company. 

 

And then he’d let either his sorrow or his anger take over, crying into his hands or swearing into the cool night air. Either way she’d listen to whatever he wanted to say, whatever needed to be said. She’d rub at his shoulders, nod her head and answer any questions. She’d listen for hours if he had the words for it, or she’d change the subject if he requested. Whatever he needed, she’d oblige and do it. Because she couldn't stand to see him in pain and upset. It killed her every time. 

 

That, at least, hadn't changed. 

 

It was on one of these late night therapy sessions, huddled in the corner booth of a desolate diner when he murmured something to her that broke her eighteen year old heart. _”She was doing so well, Clarke. And now— now I don't think I can do it anymore. It’s so, so hard.”_

 

 _”So what?”_ she had whispered, taking him in whilst trying not to let her own tears fall. _”What are you going to do?”_

 

He had thought for only a moment before a somewhat smile spread across his pained lips. _”Runaway.”_  


 

She smiled too, only having just managed to keep it steady. _”I heard it’s a lonely path to take.”_ And with that, she snuggled into his side and rested her head on his shoulder. _“Don’t runaway. I’ll miss you too much.”_

 

He was joking, she knew that, but it didn't deter her rapid beating heart when he had whispered into her hair, _“Who are you kidding, Clarke? You’d be coming with me.”_

 

She would never forget that night, just about falling asleep in that booth. And she wouldn't forget the sunrise that followed, stealing a quick kiss when he dropped her back home at dawn. Funnily enough it would be one of only three kisses they shared in their youth. And now, lying on this couch with a much older Bellamy pressed against her and an impossible choice for her to make — Clarke would've only wished that they shared more. 

 

“Clarke?” 

 

Instantly the blonde came crashing back down to earth, her reminiscent thoughts halting in their rocky path. She turned her head ever so slightly, finding a very frightened four year old staring directly at her.

 

Desi had her fox pressed tightly against her, eyes wide and her lower lip quivering. Her hair was a mess, untameable and wild — much like her normal personality on the good days. Clarke also noticed the child had been crying, tears staining her cheeks like they had done her fathers many times before. 

 

“Des,” she breathed softly, trying and failing to manoeuvre herself out from under the child’s father. “You okay?” 

 

She began to shake her little head, opening her mouth to perhaps say something when thunder boomed in the surrounds of the city, her mouth snapping shut as she shook with fear. Her quivering lip let out a singular sob before she crossed her legs tightly, and Clarke knew instantly what it meant. 

 

She’d wet herself. 

 

“Oh sweetheart.” And as Desi began to cry harder, Bellamy began to shift. 

 

Not wanting to disturb him, because she knew just how exhausted he was, she gently shushed the crying child and Bellamy in turn and inch by inch slid herself out from underneath the heavy weight upon her. To her minimal luck, Bellamy scooted closer towards the centre of the couch and remained unaware of his surroundings, letting her pass. Asleep he stayed, his mumbles turning to soft snoring indicating they were in the clear. 

 

A small success. 

 

“You’re okay,” Clarke whispered to Desi when she neared, taking her by the hand and leading her towards the bathroom. “It happens, Des.” 

 

And so her time with Bellamy came to an end, Clarke finding herself immersed in parental duties as she cleaned Desi up and put her in a new pair of pyjama pants. She told her stories of pirates sailing around the world looking for treasure, making her giggle as she told her corny jokes and overall tried to make her feel just a little better. Because she knew how hard it must have been to see her father in the shape he was in, exhausted and weary. The child was use to fun Bellamy, who'd take her to theme parks and cook pancakes on Sunday mornings. She must’ve been feeling so lost with the current one. 

 

Clarke took Desi by the hand and began leading her back towards her own room when the child tugged tightly at their grasp and shook her head defiantly. “I wanna sleep with you.” 

 

The blonde only sighed, running a hand through her own crazy curls. “I’m too big to fit in your bed, sweetie.” 

 

“No, daddy’s bed.” 

 

And although she probably knew she shouldn’t, Clarke caved. She had a tendency to do that when it came to the Blake’s, but also she was too tried to argue. “Okay.” 

 

So that’s where Clarke spent the reminder of the night, a four year old secured tightly in her arms as she tried not to remind herself of the man sleeping just metres away in the living room. The way said man had breathed against her neck, the way he smelt, the way he calmed instantly when her fingers found his curls. 

 

No, she didn't think about that at all. 

 

Another lie. That’s all she thought about. 

 

***

 

Bellamy stirred to someone eagerly knocking on his front door, blinking away the hazy blur that coated his eyes. His head was pounding, his throat was dry and so was uncomfortably hot that sweat beads dragged across his forehead. Looking down at his torso, he came to understand why. A thick blanket had been tucked so impossibly tight against his skin that he felt as though he was in a padded cell. It took him roughly a minute just to peel it back and stumble towards the persistent disturbance. 

 

When he opened the door, he half wished he hadn’t. 

 

“Bellamy.” Niylah stood there, hands on hips as she stared. “I’m here for Clarke.” She looked completely unimpressed by him. Perhaps it was his appearance. Shirtless, hair like a crows nest and squinting because he didn't have time to reach for his glasses. Or maybe it was because it was just him in general. He didn't know, he probably would never find out either.

 

Frowning, Bellamy scratched at his jaw and noticed the absence of stubble. Did he shave last night? “Clarke,” he echoed, wracking his brain. “Clarke…stayed here last night.” 

 

Niylah rolled her eyes. “I know. That’s why I’m here.” 

 

Honestly, he must’ve sounded like an absolute idiot, but his brain was too foggy to remember anything other than that fact. Why did she come over? What did they do? Most importantly, where the hell was she and his kids? 

 

“Where is she?” Niylah was growing impatient, something that was very hard to achieve when it came to her nature. Still, Bellamy was currently succeeding in doing so. That’s when he knew he was in trouble. 

 

“I don—“ a slight murmur towards the back of the apartment luckily saved him for infuriating the blonde across from him further. “My room.” It was a guess, but as Niylah pushed past him and opened the bedroom door, he discovered that it was a correct one. 

 

Clarke was lying in his bed and had Gabe in her arms, feeding him his bottle through half closed eyes. Her cheek was resting on the top of the baby’s head, murmuring something soothing whilst Desi was snuggled into her side, watching a video on Clarke’s phone. They were the picture of a domestic life, the sight pulling at Bellamy’s heartstrings unintentionally. 

 

“Hey,” she breathed gently, yawning immediately afterwards. “What time is it?” 

 

If Bellamy had the answer, he would've told her. The truth was however, he had absolutely no idea either. 

 

“9,” Niylah answered instead. “I was going to take you out for breakfast before your trial this afternoon.” 

 

Desi put down the phone when she finally noticed her company, running across the bed before jumping in her father’s arms. He kissed her gently on the cheek before he turned his attention back to the blonde, to Clarke. “You have your trial today?” 

 

When she confirmed it, he felt awful. Because instead of preparing like she probably would've liked to be doing, she was taking care of his children while slept on his own goddamn couch, too hungover to even remember why the hell she was here in the first place. “Clarke…” he began, but Niylah beat him to it. 

 

“I’ve booked for 10. We better go.” 

 

Bellamy didn't miss her tired sigh that fell from her lips when she nodded her head, nor the one second glance she gifted him before dropping her eyes to the baby in her arms. “Okay,” she whispered, toying with one of the child’s stray curls. “I’ll be out soon.” 

 

And while Niylah retreated, Bellamy stood his ground. “What did I do?” 

 

Clarke frowned, still not gifting him her eyes. “You did nothing.” 

 

“Well obviously I did. You're not looking at me.”

 

In all her four year old glory, Desi apparently knew the answer to her his question. “You fell asleep on her, daddy. And you're too heavy to carry to bed.” Under normal circumstances he probably would've laughed at that, but he knew that wasn't the full extent of the underlying issue.

 

“Clarke…” 

 

“You did nothing, okay?” Her voice was rising, she was somewhat becoming infuriated with him too. Another quick glance she gave him was full of tension this time. Things weren't looking good. “It’s me. I did something.” 

 

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Bellamy slid Desi to the floor and stared with his arms limp at his sides. “What did you do?” 

 

A stupid question really. 

 

He knew the answer. 

 

She came over.

 

“I called O,” she murmured instead, placing the now empty bottle on the nightstand before lying Gabe on his lounger and pulling on her boots. “She’s coming over in an hour.”

 

“What?” he asked her, sitting down next to her on the mattress. “Why?” 

 

She stood immediately, ruffling Desi’s hair as she passed her by. “Because you need help, and I can’t give that to you right now.” Mere seconds later she was gone, closing the door behind her. 

 

 

 

*** 

 

Clarke sat at the bar of her hideout in the next town over, _The Dropship_ , head in her hands and an empty shot glass between her elbows. She had won the case for her client just hours prior, but only just. New evidence, new arguments and Clarke was flustered. But she managed to pull through. 

 

Barely. 

 

The close call had scared her, so much so that she was visibly shaken by the time the jury came back with the verdict. Everything had just been piling up, weighing her down. It was all getting too much. When the defendant was found not guilty, she had to physically restrain herself from letting a tear slip out. 

 

So thus, she went to the bar. An easy decision really. To wallow in her guilt and her pity and her indecisiveness. Something she was particularly good at. She was an expert in that field. And in all honesty, she just wanted to be left alone. Because people, right now, were the bane of her existence. 

 

Life, of course, had other plans. 

 

“Having second thoughts?” The voice that was addressing her sounded unfamiliar, and when she looked up she discovered that the person belonging to it was also unfamiliar. A stranger. Great. 

 

She must’ve been frowning, because the unidentified male laughed and without an invitation, slid into the barstool next to her. He reiterated, nodding towards where her hands were clasped together. “You’re fiddling with your engagement ring. Fiancée trouble?” 

 

If it wasn't for the alcohol buzzing her system, Clarke would've sent this guy right on his way. But she was tipsy and he was harmless. She decided to take pity on him instead, humour him at the very least. Maybe it could bring a hint of joy into her day. 

 

Clarke hummed, turning to take in the twenty something with an obvious mission. “Something like that.” 

 

“Well whoever he is, he’s an asshole for making you upset.” He was cute, with this sort of boyish grin that she probably would've fallen for when she was younger. But that was just it. He was a boy, no older than the age of twenty two. Clarke could've almost laughed at his attempt. 

 

Smirking, Clarke lifted her hand and the bartender passed her another shot. “She,” the blonde corrected, enjoying watching her company’s face fall. “And she didn't upset me either.” 

 

He sighed, defeated. “I had no chance, huh?” he asked her, and Clarke laughed. 

 

She shook her head. “Probably not,” she breathed, just before downing the next buzz, enjoying the sting of the tequila as it coated the insides of her throat. 

 

When he noticed her eyeing her, Clarke would've guessed that he’d flee, go on the prowl and search for someone else to spend the night with. Because even an idiot would recognise that a hook up was what this guy was after. She wouldn't have been surprised if he did so. Leave. He had goal, and who was she to get in the way of it? 

 

What startled her the most is when he ordered himself a drink for himself and stayed. “No harm in talking to a pretty girl.” 

 

And admittedly there wasn’t. So she let him stay and idly chatted. 

 

The night dragged on and as one shot turned to four, and a singular hour turned to more — Clarke was beginning to find her judgement just a little impaired. Idle chat turning deep. Should she have been telling this complete and utter stranger (who’s name had slipped her cluster mind) every single secret she had been concealing? No, definitely not. But she couldn't help it. It all felt like a dam collapsing, her words like water.

 

“So what would you do?” she slurred, staring at the man intently as he took in what was being asked. “Stay with your fiancée who you love, who’s heart would absolutely break if you left her. Or leave her for your best friend who you also love, who you've loved for basically your life but is probably only admitting his love for you because he's scared of being alone?” 

 

“Don’t make me choose,” the boy whined, head falling into his hands. “You’re hurting my head and my heart at the same time.” 

 

Clarke only huffed, moving her left hand so that the diamond sparkled under the dim bar light. “I’ve got to do something though. I have to choose.” 

 

There was a pregnant pause, the chatter of the bar surrounds filling up her ears. The atmosphere was alive tonight, full of twenty somethings just enjoying their relative youth. Clarke wished she could do the same. But alas early adulthood, like the devil, had called her to its demon flock. Now her life was filled with dire decisions and seemingly dire decisions alone. 

 

“You know what I’d do?” 

 

Turning her head, she found her company smirking at her with that signature flirty smirk that she had been so willingly avoiding all night, his lips moving to mouth the words that some part of her really wanted to do. “Forget about them.” Then, as an afterthought when she obviously looked hesitant. “For tonight.” 

 

She’d have to give the guy credit, a three hour pursuit all leading up to this moment. And who was she kidding, he was passably cute and he had just listened to her drone on about all her problems without once interrupting or making some stupid comment. One kiss couldn't hurt, right? 

 

She wasn't thinking about Niylah and she wasn't thinking about Bellamy. When he leant in, Clarke couldn't help but feel drawn to the deadly and dangerous distraction, leaning in herself to just inch her way closer. 

 

A moth to the flame. 

 

They were both so drunk, the alcohol on their breath strong enough to get any passer by drunk too. So maybe that’s why Clarke didn't think about the consequences when their lips brushed together, softer than the touch a parent gives a newborn. Her head was spinning. So maybe that’s why when his hand cupped her cheek, she sighed into his mouth and leant into it — to steady herself. Her heart was divided. So maybe that’s why she needed a third party to distance herself from the organ, to be a relief even for only a couple of minutes. 

 

“Clarke Madeline Griffin, what the fuck do you think you're doing?” 

 

Scratch that. A relief for only a couple of seconds.

 

Pulling back, Clarke found a very unimpressed Raven Reyes standing before her hazy eyes, hands on hips as struck her down with a very unimpressed glare. “I leave for one month and you start kissing random guys in bars?” 

 

And instead of a comeback and instead of an explanation, Clarke drunkenly patted her companions cheek and stood to her woozy feet, trudging her way towards the girl who had just gotten back from her honeymoon and was now faced with an onslaught of drama she probably didn't want to deal with. 

 

Raven grabbed her by the shoulders, face inches away from her own. “How drunk are you right now?” 

 

“Drunk enough to hopefully not remember this tomorrow.” 

 

There was a hint of apprehension in Raven’s next question, her face softening ever so slightly. “Why? Because you kissed a stranger even though you're engaged or because you can’t decide whether or not to marry your fiancee.” 

 

Clarke couldn't help it, her lower lip began to tremble as tears began to prickle at her already hazy eyes. “Who told you?” she whispered, voice cracked and broken. 

 

Raven’s answer shouldn't have surprised her. “Nobody. I just know what cold feet looks like.” Raven was the smartest person Clarke knew, so much so that even a blink and a slight grimace on Clarke’s behalf led to Raven letting out a sigh. “That’s not all, is it?” 

 

It came out as one big release of pent up carbon dioxide gnawing at her lungs. “Bellamy said he loves me. That he loves me more than he loved Gina.” 

 

And when Raven only pursed her lips and shook her head defeatedly, murmuring a singular profanity under her breath — something dawned on Clarke, even her drunken state knowing exactly what the action meant. 

 

“You knew that already.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Queries? Hit me up. 
> 
> Also, your girl got herself a tumblr -- @cedarsarah. Yell at me there if you so desire. Or if you just want a chat, I’m up for that too. 
> 
> Xx Sarah


	6. Heal

Raven gave her no reply to her simplistic statement, not a vocal one at least. Instead, she gave her friend one of those sympathetic stares that she loathed. Clarke didn't need sympathy. Clarke needed guidance and a plan, something to declutter the whirlwind of thoughts and feelings that gnawed constantly at her being.

 

“Let’s get you home, yeah? Everyone’s been worried sick.”

 

Hiccoughing, Clarke swayed unsteadily on her aching feet. “Why?” she asked rather dumbly, merely watching as Raven collected her purse and phone from the bar countertop and wound her arm around her waist, steadying her ever so slightly.

 

“Why?” Raven echoed, a huff of a laugh unintentionally passing her lips. “Clarke, I don't know if you noticed, but you kind of dropped off the grid for a while.”

 

She frowned in response, not really grasping the seriousness of the situation. “A few hours,” the blonde muttered. “Don’t exaggerate it.”

 

Raven was clearly unimpressed, her scoff being the biggest indicator. Holding up Clarke’s phone, the brunette pressed the power button and showed her friend the blank screen. “No one could contact you. We had no idea where you were, who you were with, if you were safe. Clarke, your phone’s dead and some of us were beginning to think maybe you were too.”

 

Clarke couldn't help but huff a humourless laugh. “And by some of us you mean…”

“Niylah and Bellamy.”

 

Humming, the blonde leant her heavy head on Raven’s shoulder and allowed herself to be guided from the bar. Forgetting that she had left her drunken companion high and dry, however, she glanced over her shoulder and gifted the hopeless stranger a small wave. Even though they might've done something she would definitely regret in the morning, he listened to every single word that she spilled onto that sticky countertop. He was her free therapist for the night.

 

“Good luck with your life,” he shouted back, words slurred. “It was nice meeting you!”

 

Clarke smiled and pretended not to notice Raven catching her doing so, she herself gifting the man a scowl for a few seconds before the expression dropped into something that Clarke’s drunken state couldn't decipher as she turned her head back.  
“Come on,” Raven murmured, leading her through the open door. “Almost there.”

 

The outside air shocked Clarke, taking her breath away as the cold wind plastered her face. Maybe the temperature sobered her just a little, because the realisation of where Raven was taking her suddenly hit her square in the chest.

 

“Rae, I can’t go home.”

 

How could she go back to the apartment she shared with Niylah and pretend everything was okay? Clarke wasn't strong enough to hide the vulnerability that alcohol eased out of her. She never had been. Everything would slip whether or not she intended to or not. Niylah would discover that her fiancé was wasted, that she was seemingly in love with two people at once and that she had another’s kiss on her lips.

 

Havoc would arise. Havoc that Clarke was in no state to deal with right now.

 

Sighing, Raven walked her towards the curb where her car was parked and opened the passenger side door. “We’ll figure it out, okay? But I’m sure Niylah really wants to see you right now.”

 

Raven buckled her in and shut the door firmly. And that’s when the tears began to fall. Head falling back, she closed her eyes and just allowed them to stream. Clarke was sure that her makeup was mess, her eyes blotchy and her hair an untameable mess — but she couldn't have cared less.

 

She deserved to fall apart. She was allowed to fall apart.

 

A seemingly never ending supply of sorrow greeted Raven as she opened the opposite door and slid herself into the drivers seat. With another sigh, her hand found Clarke’s and squeezed it gently. “Okay,” she breathed, comforting. “We’ll go back to mine, alright? I’ll text everyone to let them know you're safe.”

 

The blonde nodded. It was all she could manage in that moment.

 

***

 

“This one,” Desi smiled, shuffling towards the bed with a book in her outstretched grip. The hem of her nightgown trailed on the ground, and as she took another step forward she tripped. Bellamy, with the speedy reflexes all parents seemed to develop after raising clumsy children, lunged forward and scooped his daughter up into his embrace. Holding her close, he merely smiled as she giggled into his neck.

 

“You goose,” he murmured, leaning against the headboard as his daughter dug herself underneath the crook of her fathers arm. “Which one tonight?” As Desi handed the book over, Bellamy caught sight of the cover and something fluttered deep within in his stomach. “The Heart and the Bottle.”

 

Clarke had bought the book for Desi when Gina had passed, hoping it would bring some sort of comfort to the terrifying world of hardship that the young child had been thrown into. For a while it was her absolute favourite, requesting it again and again at nighttime and flipping tirelessly through the pages to admire the pictures everyday. This, however, was the first time she had pulled it out in a very long time.

 

“You sure?” he asked her, watching as she began nodding eagerly immediately afterwards.

 

“Yes, daddy. This one.”

 

And so he begun. “Once there was a girl, much like any other. Who’s head was filled with all of the curiosities of the world. With thoughts of the stars. With wonder at the sea. She took delight in finding new things.”

 

Bellamy looked down at Desi. The lampshade created a glint in his daughter’s eyes, he himself becoming mesmerised as they scanned the magical illustrations that she had always been so engrossed in. It was times like these that he had to pinch himself to make sure that this wasn't a dream. He had to remind himself that it was he who took part in creating such an awesome human being, such a marvellous albeit accidental creation.

 

He wouldn't trade his kids for anything in the world, for they would always be his main focus in life. All he wanted to do was to keep them safe and make them happy.

 

“More.”

 

And if just a smidgen of his child’s happiness could be found in him reading her a book, he would do it in an instant.

 

Bellamy took a deep inhale of oxygen and continued. “Until the day she found an empty chair. Feeling unsure, the girl thought the best thing was to put her heart in a safe place. Just for the time being. So, she put it in a bottle and hung it around her neck…and that seemed to fix things…for a while.”

 

By the time Bellamy had finished the end of the book, Desi had already began lightly dozing beside him. However, noticing the absence of her father’s voice, she blinked open her tired eyes and requested it to be read once more. “Please,” she added when Bellamy hesitated, though in her childish tone sounded more like, “Peas.”

 

And in all honesty, he had always found it hard to say no to her.

 

After another five minutes, she was fully out like a light. Bellamy wanted to stay a little longer, just savouring these peaceful moments. His daughter asleep in his arms, soft rain pelting against her bedroom window and the gentle city noise of the people passing by in the streets below. He probably could've lay here forever.

 

The cracking open of the door had his dream cut short.

 

Octavia stood in the doorway, her nephew on her hip. With Gabe wrapped in his hooded towel, they had obviously just finished with bath time. The normal bedtime routine that Bellamy followed religiously had been disrupted following the news of Clarke’s disappearance, but he was thankful that his sister was here to help him out. To calm him down. To set his path just that little bit clearer.

 

Slipping out of the bed, Bellamy tucked Desi tight under her duvet and made sure that her fox was in her embrace before giving her a lingering kiss on the forehead and exiting the room.

 

Octavia met him out in the hallway. She’d been helping out a lot today, something in which Bellamy was extremely grateful for. She hadn't commented on why exactly Clarke had called her, just appeared with a bag full of bagels and a smile on her face. He couldn't have loved his little sister more in that moment.

 

Bellamy reached out and took ahold of his son, cradling him to his chest like he use to when he was a newborn. It was crazy how quickly he was growing up. A part of him wanted to stay little forever, with chubby cheeks and toothless grins. Another part couldn't wait until the day he could have an actual conversation with his son, listen to the things he was thinking, answer the questions he asked.

 

It was an internal conflict.

 

“Clarke’s okay,” Octavia announced and an immediate sense of relief washed over him. “Raven found her at the dropship.”

 

“Oh.” Relief turned to subtle dread. “Like I said.”

 

He could see it in his sister’s eyes when their stares met. There was no more dancing around the subject. “We need to talk, big brother.”

 

With a silent nod, he agreed.

 

Bellamy took just that little bit longer putting Gabe to bed that night. Maybe he was stalling. Or maybe he was beginning to realise that his children’s happiness was worth a hell of a lot more than his own. Cradling his son in his arms, he fed him his nightly bottle and began promising him things were going to get better. He was striving to be a better father, and that was a goal he was determined to reach.

 

“I love you, Gabriel Atlas Blake,” he whispered, smiling when when his son reached out and palmed his cheek softly. “And that’s never going to change. I’ve just got to figure some stuff out. Stuff that’ll make me a better dad.” He took a deep breath, letting the words fan out against the skin of Gabe’s forehead. “I promise you that I will be. It’ll get better. We’ll be happy.” He pressed a kiss to his son’s fingers. “We might not have a fancy car, or a fancy house, or lots of money to spend. But we’ve got each other. And love. And love can fix everything. Ain’t that right?”

 

Bellamy smiled, and yet a part of him knew that that statement didn't entirely hold truth.

 

With Gabe asleep twenty minutes later, Bellamy peppered his face with soft kisses and put him into his crib before finally venturing out into the living room. That’s where he found his sister, cuddled up on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate in her hands. Their mother always use to make them the special treat on the days her children were feeling down about the world around them or the people within it. With her gone, it was Octavia who carried on the tradition. “Yours is in the kitchen.”

 

***

 

Clarke woke up the next morning with a pounding headache and a overwhelming sense of panic when she realised the bed she was in, wasn’t hers at all. Screwing her eyes shut, she prayed that she hadn't gone home with a stranger last night. She prayed that her sober ass hadn't cheated. And most importantly, she prayed that the outcome of this situation she was in wouldn't ruin anymore of her disastrous, off the rails lifestyle she was currently living.

 

Murmuring from behind the door made her eyes crack open, all her attention focussing on trying to decipher the conversation two people were having. But her headache was making it incredibly hard to do so. And so, accepting defeat, Clarke sat up in the bed and suddenly her surrounds were filled with familiarity. It was stupid, really. She had tried locating herself by staring at a blank white wall. All she had to do was turn around and she would've discovered that she was in Raven and Zeke’s bedroom in their new apartment.

 

Walking out into the hallway, still a little unsteady on her feet, Clarke found herself prying like a stalker as she watched the interaction between her friend and her new husband. Zeke was still in his pyjamas, wrapped in a thick blanket on the couch as he held Raven in his lap. Judging by the pillow beside him, Clarke had evicted him from his own bed last night. She had kept him from his own wife just because she was a drunken, stupid mess.

 

Not that the separation mattered. They had been reunited and were currently giggling like giddy, in love teenagers.

 

Bellamy and Clarke were like that once, too.

 

But that was a long time ago.

 

She watched as Zeke whispered something in Raven’s ear. She watched as a radiant smile spread across her lips, his own following mere seconds later. And she watched as they kissed. Slow and lazy. It was clear to see that they were unafraid of the future ahead, not scared that this particular kiss might be their last. And why would they be? They were newlyweds. They had a lifetime of kisses ahead of them.

 

Clarke selfishly cleared her throat when the sight became a bit much for her, gaze dropping to the ground as she waited for her presence to be acknowledged.

 

“Hey,” she heard Raven breathe. Looking up, she found Raven crossing the threshold to stand in front of her, Zeke hovering unsure in the near distance. “You feeling better?”

 

Without Zeke there, she probably would've broken down. She still had some crying left in her. But she didn’t let her true emotions be known, she couldn’t. A smile ghost on her lips, but Raven was smarter.

 

“Wanna go get something to eat?” she asked her gently, squeezing her shoulder as Clarke nodded. “Okay then. Come on.”

 

***

 

“Clarke, honey. I’m going to be straight up with you, alright? Because I think it’s what you need to hear.”

 

Apparently everyone had been worried sick over Clarke’s spur of the moment disappearance. Niylah had been frantic, texting the group chat and her alike roughly a thousand times to see if anyone knew her fiancée’s location, scared that Clarke had strayed from her rigid routine. It hadn't helped that Clarke’s phone had died roughly an hour into her drinking escapade, meaning that even if she wanted to contact Niylah, she couldn’t.

 

Bellamy had been the one to contact the newest member search party, asking the one friend of theirs that hadn't witnessed the obvious tension between the two, Have you checked the dropship?

 

Of course it had been Bellamy to seek her out amongst the many possible locations in the area, because it was him that introduced to the goddamn place. He introduced her to all these places during their late night drives into the next town over.

 

Nodding solemnly, Clarke tore at the greasy paper that her burger had been wrapped in. This is what she had been waiting for, someone to help her, to relieve the burden that had been weighing down upon her shoulders. But now that it was in front of her, she was growing weary about whether or not she actually wanted to hear it.

 

Still, it needed to be done. She needed some guidance, some light within this increasingly blinding world.

 

Raven kept her face straight and unwavering, eyes set as she let her alleged truth slip from her lips. “If you're so conflicted over this choice, then maybe you shouldn't be marrying Niylah. Because if you were so definitely sure that you are in love with her, that you want to share the rest of your life with her… all the things you should be sure about when you decide to marry someone— then the choice would been easy. You would choose Niylah hands down, no hesitation.” Taking a deep breath, her friend reached over the table and took one of her hands in her own. It was a comforting gesture, something that her hard set friend rarely gave. Running her thumb over her knuckles, she let slip the simple truth of the matter, “But Clarke, you're hesitating.”

 

The blonde didn't mean for her lower lip to quiver, but it started, soft contracts of muscle that seemingly didn't wish to calm down anytime soon. “I know,” she breathed, chewing at her lip in a pathetic attempt to calm herself. “God, I know.”

 

Raven smiled a soft sort of small smile that Clarke had rarely seen before. “That doesn't make you a bad person. Just one that has something more in the world for her.”

 

Staring at her ring and the way it glistened in the sunshine, Clarke thought back to when it was first placed on her finger. She had total recall of that entire day. In the morning Bellamy had let it slip that Gina was pregnant with Gabe, and that night Niylah proposed. Maybe she said yes because she wanted that for herself, a wife and a family of her own. Or maybe it was because Bellamy was moving on without her, and she was somewhat determined to catch up and prove that she was capable of doing the same.

 

“So what?” Clarke asked, wiping at a tear that she hadn't even realised had trailed down the length of her cheek until it threatened to drip off of her chin. “I break it off with Niylah? Be with Bellamy instead?”

 

Raven contemplated it for only a few short seconds before shaking her head. “Do what you think is right regarding Niylah. Break it off. She doesn't deserve to be led on, to have hope that there’s a future if there isn’t one.” A breath. “But you don't have to be with Bellamy right now, not instantly. Just do you for a while, yeah?” Raven had these big brown eyes that were hard not to lose yourself in, the truth within the globes, the sincerity in the soft blinks. Maybe thats why Clarke took so long to acknowledge what exactly she was suggesting. “Just do Clarke for a while. Not Niylah and Clarke. Not Bellamy and Clarke. Not whoever and Clarke. Just do Clarke.”

 

When Clarke grew hesitant, Raven continued.

 

“Bellamy isn't going anywhere anytime soon. That I can promise you right now. If that boy meant what he said, if he really does love you like he claims to — then you have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

 

And honestly, it appealed to her more than anything right now. She didn't want to be the type to get out of one relationship and jump onto another being like their life depended on it. She needed her individuality and her freedom. Time was what she needed to refresh her mind, rid herself from the emotional baggage she had been dragging around with her recently.

 

“Yeah,” she breathed, solemnity etched into her tone. She might've been doing what was right for herself, but Clarke was having to break someones heart in the process. The thought of sitting Niylah down and having that talk with her made her nauseous. “Okay.”

 

Raven gave her another comforting smile, popping a small fry into her mouth as she overlooked the lake. Clarke watched her, the crinkle in her brow as she stared in deep thought at the scenery in front of them both. “It’s a lot to take in, huh?”

 

Clarke’s reply was immediate. “Unbelievably so.”

 

In silence they sat for a while, basking in the early morning sun that shone upon them through the open roof of Raven’s convertible. It was a well needed break from the terrible winter weather that they had been having. The sun was refreshing. Clearing of clouded thoughts and minds alike.

 

“Now,” Raven announced suddenly, clapping her hands together. “Do you want to hear about my incredible honeymoon or shall we talk about you some more, you selfish bitch.”

 

Clarke tired not showing the way her friends successful and carefree wedding affected her. Her friends deserved to be happy even if she was struggling to find her own. Instead, the blonde snorted and shoved her friend lightheartedly. “Tell me all about it.”

 

***

 

“C’mon, sleepy girl,” Bellamy murmured softly, switching on the soft glowing lamp that sat on Desi’s bedside table. He sat on the edge of the bed, shaking his daughter gently. “Time to wake up.”

 

Last night was long, but Bellamy was determined to not let his own tiredness ruin the day ahead.

 

Groaning, the child buried herself deep into her pillow and pouted her lips with screwed shut eyelids. She looked so much like Gina when she did that. Her mother was never a morning person either. “No, daddy,” she whined. “No school today.”

 

“Yes there is,” Bellamy laughed softly, leaning down to kiss a quick kiss to her forehead when he heard Gabe beginning to cry in the next room over, indicating clearly that he was no mood to be in his cot anymore now that he was awake. “And you’re going.”

 

“Daddy, no.”

 

“Desi, yes.” His child might’ve hated the thought of preschool in the morning, he knew how much she adored it when she was actually there. “Your clothes are on the armchair. Five minutes until breakfast. Get a move on.”

 

Bellamy walked into his son’s room and greeted him with a more fragile smile. “Hey, buddy boy.” Scooping him up into his arms, Bellamy held Gabe close, shushing him softly until his cries silenced. “Let’s get you changed, yeah? It’s cold out.” Bellamy changed his diaper, blew gentle raspberries on his bare stomach and laughed when his son began to giggle uncontrollably. That was a weak spot of his, his children giggling. “Okay, okay,” Bellamy sighed when he was becoming distracted. “We better hurry up or we’ll make Desi late for school, make you late for your date with Aunty O.”

 

They left the room, Gabe rugged up in a navy striped sweater, fleece leggings and the most adorable knitted beanie that Jasper claimed he couldn't not buy for his favourite (only) nephew.

 

At least he was ready for the day ahead.

 

They found Desi in the kitchen, attempting to reach the bread packet that sat upon the countertop. She had her sweater on backwards and the laces on her boots untied, but other than that she had done a pretty solid job of dressing herself.

 

“Good job, sweet pea,” he murmured affectionately, ruffling her hair. “Honey or peanut butter on your toast?” he asked her, flicking on the kettle so he could make Gabe his morning bottle of formula and himself some coffee.

 

“Both,” she confirmed, making silly faces at her brother. “And sprinkles.”

 

“Sprinkles,” he echoed, frowning. He knew he probably shouldn't have said yes. But well, today Bellamy could probably let it slide.

 

***

 

“Have a great day.” Bellamy hugged his daughter out the front of her preschool later that morning, pressing her tight against himself to gather some comfort and courage. “I love you.”

 

“Love you too,” she replied, pulling away, now suddenly eager to get inside the classroom. “Bye bye, daddy.”

 

It would be a lie to say that Bellamy lingered unnecessarily longer outside his daughter’s classroom that day, watching her through the open door. She was so adorable, chatting excitedly with her teacher as she set herself up on her assigned desk.

 

Gabe gurgled impatiently in his pram, and he knew it was time to leave. So they did, albeit a little slower than intended.

 

When Bellamy finally knocked on Octavia’s door half an hour later it flung open, his sister turning from breathless with worry to sighing with relief in just a matter of seconds. “Oh good, you're here.”

 

“Of course,” Bellamy nodded. He knew he had to do this. “Day bag.” He handed the backpack over. “Extra lovey.” He handed the blanket over, something neither of his kids had ever been able to sleep without as babies. “And my son.” He pulled Gabe out of his pram and kissed his cheek before handing him over to his aunt. “He’s in a good mood today.”

 

Octavia smiled at her nephew, bouncing him gently until he began to giggle. “Is that right?”

 

Bellamy smiled a fragile smile, watching the scene in front of him. It was unintentional, but a singular tear travelled down his freckled cheek.

 

His sister noticed immediately. “Hey,” she breathed, wrapping him up in a one-armed hug. “It’s going to get better. Everything will work out in the end.” Octavia had somehow mimicked the same soothing voice that their mother had when she use to calm her children down. It was incredible how much she reminded him of her.

 

“I know,” Bellamy sighed, steadying himself. “I know.”

 

“You better go then,” his sister prompted after a minute, pulling away all too quickly. “You don't want to be late.”

 

And so he left, walked twenty minutes through the bustling city in morning rush hour and with a deep breath entered the clinical office with its tasteful floral prints on milky white walls. “I’m here to see Dr. Tsing,” he told the receptionist.

 

The receptionist had a polite smile and a soft voice, ushering him to the waiting room where he sat for ten minutes with an uncontrollable to bounce his left leg. _You’ll be fine,_ he had to keep reminding himself. _It’s for your own good._

 

And so when Dr Tsing called him into her office a few seconds later, he was prepared and unwavering in answer when she asked why exactly he was here today. “I’m mourning the death of my girlfriend, I’m struggling to be the best father I can be to my two kids, and I’m in love with my longtime best friend who just so happens to be engaged.”

 

Tsing nodded with a practiced pacific expression, but there was something in her deep brown eyes that led Bellamy to belief that perhaps she was regretting taking this case on so early in the morning.

 

***

 

Clarke walked into work that morning completely and truly numb. Coffee in her ringless left hand, she was prepared to put her headphones in and work. Just work. No thinking about the consequences of what she had done the night before. Just work. Focus on her clients whose lives would be permanently altered if she didn't win their cases for them. Don’t focus on Niylah. Poor, single, heartbroken, anguished Niylah.

 

She kept her head down, eyes trailing the carpeted floors as she trailed her determined feet towards her office.

 

It was only inevitable that she would be stopped by her boss. That was her fucked up fate, right?

 

“Clarke.” Marcus Kane smiled warmly as she tried to do the same. “Can we talk in my office?”

 

“Sure,” she murmured, following him with a little slower pace than normal. She only prayed that another big profile case was about to be dropped on her. It would be a great distraction from her own mess of a life.

 

He sat her down opposite him. If he noticed her down mood he didn't at all comment on it. “We’re starting up a new programme,” he began. “And we need lawyers who are prepared to travel cross country to represent those who are completely innocent and are yet unable to afford suitable, highly commended lawyers.” For a beat he paused, allowing her to take in what he was saying. “Would you be willing?”

 

“How long for?” she asked him softly.

 

“No more than a year and a half. Of course I’ll give you some time to think about it —”

 

Clarke didn't need to think about, Raven’s words echoing through the cogs working in her mind. _Just do Clarke for a while._.. A cross country job. Freedom. Alone time.

 

“I’ll do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted really quick because I’m going on an overnight stay at a hotel and quickly wanted to get this out so there’s probably mistakes!!
> 
> Let me know what you think!!


	7. Till I Lost

Everything was going remarkably smooth despite the fast-paced motion of it all.

 

Kane and her spent two hours in his office that day, making plans, securing deals, hashing everything out. The lease on the apartment that Clarke use to share with Niylah was up at the end of the month. Niylah had already moved out and was living with her parents somewhere in the suburbs, claiming she couldn't stay and pretend like everything was okay when nothing was. And to be perfectly honest, Clarke couldn't blame her.

 

Perfect timing despite the ill-fate.

 

After a few brief moments of deliberation, it was finalised. In a month she’d be in Portland, Oregon, preventing the innocent from being wrongly convicted, prosecuting the guilty. She knew how impulsive she was being, knew the inevitable uproar that would fall upon her already heavily weighted shoulders and yet, she couldn't find it in herself to care. Not yet. She needed this. She wanted this. Her whole life had been about pleasing others, not letting them down— it was finally Clarke’s time to be selfish. To do what was right in her eyes, not in the piercing gazes of others.

 

“Any particular reason why you were so eager to accept my offer?” Kane asked curiously, rubbing at his stubble as he eyed her almost suspiciously. “If you don't mind me asking, of course. With your upcoming wedding I thought it would've been a hard no. This was a shot in the dark.”

 

Clarke sat in the leather wingback, back straight as she stared at the man who she suspected was dating her estranged mother. There was no doubt in her mind that it would get back to her if she told him the truth. That her daughter was having a crisis, having just broken up with her fiancé and being in love with her best friend. Clarke could only imagine the look of disappointment that would spread over her mother’s facial features when he would tell her, pouting her lips in a disapproving way.

 

So she deterred from the truth. Not exactly a lie.

 

“I need to do some more good in this world.”

 

When Clarke left later that afternoon she was prepared to go home, chuck on some sweats and start planning her escape. She’d most likely give most of the furniture to Niylah, maybe put some in storage. She’d need to talk to her landlord, explain why she wasn't renewing her lease. And most of all, she’d need to tell everyone about her plans.

 

That was the scariest part. The part she was dreading the most.

 

Her phone chimed in her handbag as she waited for her Uber home, Clarke pulling it out to discover a message from Raven to the group chat.

 

 _4:50 PM_  
**Raven**  
_Zeke and I were thinking of grabbing some dinner tonight. Anyone else in?_

 

A perfect opportunity just about fell into her lap.

 

***

 

With Gabe down for the night, Bellamy was prepared to spend some downtime with his daughter before calling it in relatively early. He was exhausted, both mentally and physically. Therapy, all though was doing him good, was draining. Tsing kept making him bring up old memories, old feelings, stuff he had repressed a very long time ago. And it was hard. Rewarding surely in the end, but hard none the less. So hard.

 

With _Tangled_ playing on the television, and a special mid week treat, Blueberry Pop-tarts, warm between their fingers, Bellamy started to sink into the sofa a little bit further. He filled his lungs with the heater warmed air, releasing it slowly as he tried to stay in the moment. His daughter giggling aided in that mission.

 

“Can I grow my hair that long?” she asked, looking up at him with hopeful eyes. “Like Rapunzel’s.”

 

Bellamy managed a laugh, wrapping his arm around her as she cuddled into his side. “Sure, Des. As long as you want it.”

 

Sometimes Bellamy would find himself letting moments like this past by all too quickly. He’d live them, but not really experience and appreciate the little things in life. He knew that when his kids inevitably grew upwards and onwards, he’d reminisce and wished he’d have taken notice of how quickly things had changed. How small they were. Innocent. Naive. Wanting their hair to be as long as a fictional princesses.

 

So Bellamy turned off his phone, cleared his head of any sort of intrusive thoughts and just allowed himself to be. Be. With his daughter, content in this world. Be. And for a whole two hours, life was blissful and carefree. He fell asleep with his daughter in his arms, her short fans of breath flushing against his tanned skin. And he slept better than he had in a very long time.

 

Until there was a knock at the door.

 

***

 

Raven paced impatiently outside the forest green door of the Blake residence, biting nervously at her once perfectly manicured nails. It had been just an average Wednesday night, some of the friendship group deciding to embark on a spur of the moment dinner at the local diner. And whilst Bellamy had confirmed earlier that he would be a no show, Clarke had made an unexpected appearance.

 

She was looking remarkably well, her blonde hair braided into a loose braid that hung midway down her back, her makeup was minimal, clean and bright, and although she was in sweats, she looked well put together. Nothing like the girl she had found at the bar just a few nights ago.

 

Greeting them all with a smile, she slipped into the booth, apologised for her lateness and sat down.

 

And that was it.

 

Clarke picked at her omelette and stayed relatively silent, listening to conversation but not really contributing. She smiled when jokes were made, nodding when she agreed with something. But something was off. Raven made eye contact with her, cocking her head ever so slightly and it was enough to warrant the answer she had been waiting for.

 

“I broke up with Niylah. The wedding is off.”

 

Raven had encouraged it, so it wasn't a shock. But all separate conversations within the small group halted, their heads snapping towards the blonde as they registered the words that had just slipped from her lips.

 

The breaking up with Niylah didn't make Raven bat an eyelid. Though, the statement that followed just about made her eyeballs pop right out of their sockets.

 

“And I’m moving to Oregon for a year and a half.”

 

She was not expecting that. Not in the slightest.

 

So that’s why Raven was out the front of Bellamy’s, pacing tirelessly. The epitome of a mess. She was pretty sure she was on the verge of a panic attack, the air becoming increasingly harder to breathe. It was thick. Thick enough that she was starting to feel dizzy. If Bellamy didn't open the door soon, it was quite possible that one of his neighbours would be stumbling upon her very soon.

 

Luckily, it creaked open mere seconds later and Raven had never felt more relieved in her life. “Oh thank God,” she found herself murmuring, calming her untameable nerves just an inch. She took the time to recollect herself then, just now noticing that perhaps it wasn't exactly the best time to be dropping this news on such an unsuspecting victim.

 

Bellamy stood before her, staring at his friend in surprise. “Hey.”

 

He had his daughter on his hip, the picture of innocence. Desi’s cheek was smushed as she drooled on her father’s shoulder, blinking blearily at the disturbance. Her eyebrows quirked up when she realised who it was. “Aunty Rae,” she spoke in a signature tired tone. “Hi.”

 

“Hey,” she murmured to them both in unison, mentally cursing herself for interrupting their night. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn't have come without without notice, I wasn't thinking and…”

 

Bellamy smiled gently, cutting her off. She was most probably going to be breaking his heart within the next hour, more so than it already was. “You know you're always welcome, Raven. It’s just a surprise is all.”

 

He opened the door further, ushering her inside before letting it click softly behind them. Still bewildered at her unexpected arrival, Bellamy faltered for a moment, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. “Let me um—“ he frowned, recollecting himself. “Let me put this one to bed.”

 

“Daddy, no!” Desi argued, suddenly full of energy as she squirmed to free himself from her father’s grasp. She succeeded and the second her feet touched the ground she took off sprinting towards Raven, wrapping her arms around her legs and smiling innocently up at her. “I wanna stay up.”

 

Raven tried for a bigger smile, though her attempt bordered on pathetic. She was so worked up that even this simple action proved difficult. “Hey gorgeous, your dad’s right. It’s pretty late.” She needed to talk to Bellamy and Bellamy alone. His daughter shouldn't be around when she dropped this bombshell.

 

Pouting and frown marring her brow, the young girl sighed, arms dropping to her side. “No,” she repeated, but this time her fight was diminished. She turned to Bellamy. “Please, daddy?”

 

He looked to Raven then, almost as if he was asking her to parent this situation, to ask for an answer.

 

She discreetly shook her head, silently explaining that she needed to talk to him in private.

 

“Not tonight, sweetheart. You have school in the morning.” He took a step forward and picked her up like she was featherlight, rubbing her back gently as if to console her. “Say goodnight to Aunty Rae.”

 

“Night,” the child grumbled after deliberation, leaning over to give her a reluctant hug.

 

“Goodnight Des.”

 

Bellamy smiled softly at the interaction before retreating, beginning to walk down the hallway towards his daughters bedroom. “Give me ten minutes,” he called over his shoulder before disappearing.

 

It longest ten minute wait of Raven’s life.

 

***

 

“I didn't want anything to get twisted,” Raven began, pacing in front of the coffee table.

 

Bellamy sat of the couch before her, his elbows to his knees as he listened intently to what his friend had to say. He looked nervous, and Raven couldn't blame him. She must have freaked him out, showing up announced, not wanting to hang out with her niece like she normally did. Especially given the circumstances, he had everything to worry about.

 

“When I found Clarke at the dropship the other night she wasn't in the best of shape, same with the morning that followed. She was conflicted.”

 

Bellamy grimaced, and she knew that she didn't need to specify about what she was conflicted over.

 

“I calmed her down, talked it out with her and gave her my opinion on the matter. In no way did I force her to do anything, to act upon anything. I just gave her my advice.” Raven took a deep breath, steadying herself. “And with that advice she broke it off with Niylah. They’re no longer together.”

 

She gave Bellamy a moment to take the news in, to understand what she was saying. His declaration of love for her had sparked this. He nodded slowly, and Raven absolutely hated to see a flicker of hope in Bellamy’s tryingly vacant gaze. “Okay,” he murmured, staring at his hands. “So—“

 

“Bell, I’m not done.”

 

She couldn't do that, get his hopes up. Especially not after everything he had been through.

 

“I gave her some more advice. I told Clarke that you and her didn't need to get together right away. That you both needed some time to figure yourselves out. Time to just focus on just you and her. As separate people.”

 

Bellamy nodded, rubbing at his jawline. “Yeah, I agree.”

 

Focussing on her breathing, Raven tugged loose her ponytail holder that suddenly felt so tight and ran her fingers through her brunette hair, finding some sort of comfort in her fingers scratching at her scalp. She still paced, though it was much slower than before. “I knew you would,” she sighed, “but Bell, that’s not the issue.”

 

She hadn't even realised that she had paused, like a stupid dramatic reveal you see in movies until Bellamy coaxed her.

 

“Raven?”

 

The brunette let it go. “She misinterpreted my advice. This is not what I meant when I said to take time for herself but…she’s moving to Oregon.”

 

Bellamy seemingly tried concealing his shock though failed, mouth instantly dropping as he rose to his feet. “What?” he asked, sounding so breathless, confused and if anything — lost and heartbroken. He looked like the epitome of heaviness. “Raven, no. Please tell me your wrong.”

 

Shaking her head, Raven took a hesitant step towards him, arms out like she was approaching some sort of wild animal. “Kane offered her a job in Oregon. A one and a half year programme.”

 

Unknowingly, his fists began to tighten at his sides, his own breathing becoming as ragged as her’s had been as she had waited for him to open the door minutes prior. Bellamy’s bottom lip was captured by his teeth, biting down hard enough that Raven was sure that he ought to draw blood. He shook too, more so out of frustration than anything else. “She can’t. Not now.”

 

Raven, before she knew it, allowed tears to fall from her eyes. She wasn't known for crying. But this situation just about called for it. Here was a young man, in love with his best friend who decided that she wants to take a job on the other side of the country. She felt for him. He’d been through so much in the past six months. More than anyone should. This just added to the heartache.

 

“I’m sorry.” He didn't deserve this.

 

“I have to go and talk to her. I have to stop her.” The prime example of a do first think later kind of guy, Bellamy was making moves to grab at his jacket before the brunette ultimately stopped him, standing in his way.

 

“Bell, no. Not now.”

 

He saw right through her. “She’s upset and not thinking straight.” He fisted his arms through the garment, actions forceful and unforgiving.

 

“Are you?” Raven retorted, hand falling upon his forearm, bringing him back down to earth just enough to communicate properly. He settled, looking her in the eye this time. “She broke up with Niylah yesterday. She took the job today. Clarke needs time to figure out, by herself, that this isn't what she needs.”

 

“You know how stubborn she is, Raven. Even if she does realise that this is wrong she’ll still go just to spite herself.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And if you didn't want me reacting, why tell me?”

 

Raven knew this was coming. She also knew how irrational her friend was being, but it didn't deter from the fact that it was nine o’clock at night and he was threatening to up and leave, confronting the girl who most likely didn't need it right now.

 

“I came here so that the news wouldn't get twisted, not for you to throw a fit and storm after her.”

 

She could see him growing frustrated, his nostrils flaring but before he could respond they both registered the sound of whining from down the hall, that whining very quickly turning to full blown wails. Gabe. Unsure on how long the boy had been crying, Bellamy visibly turned guilty, sighing dejectedly. His newly shucked jacket fell to the ottoman as he prepared himself to tackle his son, not the other task he so desperately yearned to.

 

“Fine,” he muttered through gritted teeth, losing his fight. “Stay here.”

 

He trudged down the hall, appearing just moments later with his fussing son in his arms. They looked as tired as each other, and Raven couldn't help but allow her heartstrings to tug at the sight.

 

“He’s still teething,” Bellamy gave as an explanation, producing a cooled silicone ring from the refrigerator to gift Gabe’s aching gums. The baby fisted it thankfully, his cries silencing when he brought the toy to his mouth. “It’s a killer.”

 

Raven nodded like she understood, but not having kids of her own made an empathetic response a little more difficult. “Is there anything I can do? I could stay up with him if you’d like.”

 

Bellamy stared at her with his signature soft gaze, gently swaying the baby back and forth as he did so. He looked so boyish in that moment, so innocent, so undeserving of the things life was currently throwing at him. Maybe that’s why he was contemplating her offer for so long. Maybe he was coming to understand his fate of seemingly never ending misfortune.

 

Raven didn't know it, but his therapist had told him to ask for more help. He hated doing it, thought it made him appear weak. Why should he place his own burdens on those he loved? But Tsing was forcing those beliefs out of his head, encouraging him to reach out.

 

“Please,” he finally caved, sighing. It’s all he did recently. Sigh. Announcing his thoughts, the man continued, “I hate doing it. They’re my kids, I should be able to take care of them. But I’m tired, Raven. All the time. And with so much going on….”

 

“It’s fine.” She took Gabe from him, holding him close as she calmed his occasional gurgles. “I’ll stay until he falls asleep, then I’ll sneak out, okay?”

 

“Okay,” he replied, smiling gently at his friend. “Thank you, Raven. I appreciate it. A lot.”

 

She smiled back, just glad she could do some good after delivering such news, but before it had even been on her lips a full second it had fallen. Because it had only taken Bellamy a singular blink of an eye to snatch his coat from the ottoman, grab the nearest pair of shoes and fling open the front door.

 

“Bellamy!” The brunette called out in a show of her own frustration, “Don’t you dare.”

 

But it was too late and the words would fall flat anyway. Bellamy was determined.

 

“She’s not doing this, Raven,” was the last thing he muttered before the door closed in his wake.

 

Looking down at the baby in her arms, Raven knew she wasn't meant to swear. The corruption of innocent minds was wrong. So she dulled down the insult, making it just a little more kid friendly. “Your dad is a fudging idiot.”

 

And he was. He really was.

 

A fudging idiot in love.

 

A fudging idiot willing to fight for it.

 

***

 

“Can’t you just see this is what you do? You decide how things are going to go.” There was pent up anger in Bellamy’s tone, the words dripping with a surprising hint of venom. He was looking straight at her, not willing to let her hide or drop her own gaze. An almost challenge.

 

This isn't how Clarke had planned for her night to go. With the news out, Clarke needed to find some solace. So she had set up a fresh canvas, fresh paint and was prepared to delve into a world of subconscious art making for a few hours. It would do her good. She was actually excited to start.

 

But she never got the chance to.

 

Because Bellamy had stormed in like a whirlwind hurricane. Demanding. Accusing. Angry.

 

But she accepted the challenge anyway, her own stare unrelenting. “I am not the one deciding,” Clarke shot back, her own anger rising. “You’re the one who decided to tell me you loved me. You’re the reason I need some time to figure myself out.”

 

Bellamy let out an almost accusatory huff. “Of course you're the one deciding, Clarke. You’re always the one deciding! You decide to leave, you decide to stay. You decide you need me, then you decide you don’t. You decide to move to goddamn Oregon—“

 

“We need time, okay?” she spoke over him, sparing only a few seconds to take a deep breath before continuing, “W-we need to figure ourselves out. To be separate people. Can’t you see this is what we do? We fight. Time apart will stop that.”

 

“The only reason we fight is because you leave, Clarke. It’s a pattern.”

 

It hit hard, but she didn't let it show. Closing her eyes, she gathered up what was left of her diminishing fight and sighed, “Please, Bell. Don’t do this.”

 

His answer was plain and simple. “Then don't leave.”


	8. I Know

It seemed like such a straightforward, easy choice. She should've relented, allowed herself to break down the walls she constantly built up around herself and agreed. She’d crumble, quiver her lower lip, mumble a defeated _okay,_ and fall into his arms. He’d hold her tight, run his fingers through her hair, whisper promises of better days ahead, and let her know that they’d discuss things in the morning, when their thoughts were a little clearer, a little less cloudy. He’d smell and feel like home. And everything else wouldn't have mattered.

 

That was a perfect world outcome.

 

Too bad they didn't live in one.

 

Collapsing into her favourite floral armchair, Clarke let out a heaving sigh and fluttered her tired eyes shut. She brought her knees to her chest, resting her chin on the tops. She was too tired to fight, though knew that this factor didn't matter to the man across from her. He couldn't have cared less in that moment.

 

“I can’t, Bellamy,” she found herself murmuring. “I already said I’d take the job.”

 

Clarke was stubborn. She always had been. It took her a lot of effort to admit her wrongdoings, always determined to be right. This was just a prime example of this unforgiving characteristic.

 

“You can, Clarke. It’s that simple.” He took a breath. “Tell Kane that you can’t do the programme, that you’ve thought things over and decided that it was best, for everyone, if you just stayed here.”

 

She huffed a humourless laugh in response. She wasn't sure why, it had just happened. An involuntary reaction. A little insensitive. “Well now you’re just putting words in my mouth.”

 

Her statement was not well received, and the blonde knew mere milliseconds later that she shouldn't have said it. She should've bit her tongue instead, maybe draw some blood to sober her up. But it was too late. It was done. Bellamy was already reacting.

 

She opened her eyes to find him standing before her, limbs hanging loose at his sides like the branches of the willow tree that use to be rooted in the garden of her childhood home. She was thrown for a moment, remembering that peaceful tree, her relatively peaceful childhood.

 

An exaggerated sigh brought her right back into the storm.

 

Glancing up, she took in his flared nostrils, his heaving chest. “You’re so frustrating.” He huffed, bringing both hands to his head, pressing his palms against either temple as if trying to relieve an excruciating migraine. “You’re laughing when I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you.”

 

“I know,” she mumbled, sounding so small. Like a child. An impulsive, naive child. “I’m sorry, I just—“ but she couldn't really even comprehend what she was trying to say. So she trailed off, staring at her empty hands. “I’m sorry.”

 

Sorry was just a superficial word, though. It felt like an excuse.

 

She heard him gulp, heard him mutter something incoherent, then watched as he slid down the nearest wall, slumped on the floor like a disregarded rag doll.

 

On the street below, sirens of an ambulance droned their warning, temporarily filling the room with flashes of blue and red light. Clarke found herself wondering in that moment, for the first time in a very, very long time, what her mother was doing tonight. Was she working tonight? Would she be treating the patient in that ambulance? Clarke didn't know. What she did know though, was that she would've rather to be in there, than in this room. And that was an awful thought.

 

There was probably only a minute silence between the two, though it felt like hours.

 

“Fine,” Bellamy said, staring her down, shattering it. The sudden break in silence jolted her, picked up her heartbeat. She had to focus on her breathing just to slow it back down to a relatively normal pace.

 

“If you’re not going to stay for my sake, stay for my children.” His words were sharp, like broken glass. The more syllables that passed his lips, the more her wounds deepened. They all cut her. Hard. Deep. Ruthless.

 

“When you get back, Gabe will be two. Walking, talking, an entirely different being. He won’t recognise you, won’t reach for you like he does now.” He paused, as if for effect. Then, “You’ll be a stranger to him.”

 

Clarke swallowed, the column of her throat dragging as she stayed staring at her empty hands. She wished she had something in them to distract her. Anything would've done in that moment, though a cigarette would've been the best option.

 

Bellamy was unrelenting, continuing on his guilt trip. “And what about Desi?”

 

If he was looking for an answer, he didn't give her time to formulate one.

 

“What did you promise her the other week? Clarke, tell me.”

 

Sighing, she looked at him in that moment. Open and vulnerable, she showed how much his words were affecting her. She thought about acting dumb, pretending that she had no recollection of the very thing he was suggesting. But she couldn't do that, hurt him more than she already had. So she went with the simple truth. “That I wasn't going to leave her. That I wasn't going to leave you.”

 

“And what are you doing?”

 

It felt as though she had fallen into a deep grave, and Bellamy was the digger. Every word was another shovel-full of dirt being thrown onto her, weighing her down. “Look, that isn't what I meant.” She tried to claw her way out, but the dirt only slipped beneath her weak grasp. She was trapped, though it didn't stop her trying. “Gina will never be coming back. I will. It’s different.”

 

“Clarke, Desi is four years old,” he retorted. “She takes things literally because she’s not old enough to understand.” He took a breath, steadying himself, though it seemingly looked as though it failed. He visibly shook, showing how much this argument was affecting him. “If you leave, you’ll be dead to her. Can you understand that?”

 

“I’m not going forever,” she reiterated firmly, deciding it was best to brush off the blows. “And I won’t drop off the face of the earth. I’ll FaceTime and of course I’ll come back for the holidays, for visits. To see you all.”

 

“It’s not enough, and if you think that it’ll ever be enough, you're delusional.”

 

Clarke threw her head back, only a hint of pain throbbing though her skull when she connected with the headboard of the armchair. Eyes screwed shut, she tried focussing on the feeling, though it diminished all too soon. So she threw her head back again, harder. 

 

And again.

 

And again.

 

She only ceased when a deep voice ordered her to.

 

“Clarke,” he boomed, partly out of anger, more so out of concern. “Stop it!”

 

Her jaw clicked, frustrated, though she did as he wished.

 

“Why are you doing this to us?” he asked, voice merely a whisper. “Why are you doing this to _me?_ ”

 

Her breath caught, her lower lip beginning to tremble. But she would not cry. She refused to let him wear her down. Clarke was stronger than that. Her resolve wouldn't be shaken. Shaking her head, Clarke looked at him through a half lidded gaze, deciding to show him that she was just exhausted instead.

 

“I’m doing this for me. I’m doing this for people I’ll be helping in Oregon.”

 

Bellamy huffed a bitter sort of laugh. “Don’t play the good guy here, Clarke.” She was angering him without even trying. She had a tendency to do that sometimes. “You’re running, that’s what you're doing. And you can claim that you’re doing it to boost your career, to help people, all you want. But you and I both know the truth.”

 

Clarke destroyed the urge to glare at him. “And what truth is that?”

 

He had no trouble admitting his alleged truth. “You hate your job. It’s not what you want to do. It doesn't make you happy.”

 

From the way that she tried stuttering a reply, tried to not let her eyes fall, they both knew that it was the plain and simple truth. Clarke hated law. She never wanted to study it in the first place. But she had done so because she was a people pleaser, and it was a guaranteed career. All those advisors at school had deterred her away from art anyway, stating it was a hard business to flourish in. And with heavy reluctance, she agreed with them all. All except Bellamy. Bellamy, who was adamant she would make it. Bellamy, who tired so hard to convince her that all those people had no idea what they were talking about. Bellamy, who she had fought with on the matter, losing five years of their relationship in the midst of it.

 

“That,” Bellamy pointed to the abandoned canvas and easel, “is your passion. That is what you are destined to do.”

 

“A lot of people don't like their jobs. And I’m not going to throw away all those goddamn years I spent slaving over my degree, getting to where I am now. Stop thinking we all live in a fairytale where we can chop and change things whenever we so desire. That’s not how the real world works.”

 

Bellamy shook his head vigorously, eyes wide and unbelieving. He huffed another one of those humourless laughs, pushing his fingers into his knotted curls. “Fairytale?” he echoed, bemused. “You think I live in a fairytale, Clarke?”

 

She could only stare.

 

He raised his voice, getting the point across. “If lived in a fairytale, why is it that my girlfriend is dead? Why is it that my children are motherless? Why is it that Gina kissed my daughter goodbye one day and then never came home? Does that sound like a fairytale to you?” Tears threatened to drip from his waterline, but he was strong enough to hold them there, at bay.

 

Speechless, Clarke chewed at her lip. Never had she felt so ashamed, so regretful over a simple word. How was she meant to respond to that?

 

Luckily, she didn't have to.

 

On the coffee table, Clarke’s phone began to buzz obnoxiously loud, rattling against the glass countertop. It was ignored the first time, both allowing it to just ring out. But when it started to ring for a second time, seemingly louder than the first, Clarke took it upon herself to snatch it from its perch and announce the caller.

 

“It’s Raven,” she murmured. “Something to do with you?”

 

He nodded, and so she answered, putting it on speaker. “Hey,” she said into it, just loud enough for her friend to hear.

 

“Clarke.” Her tone was a little louder than Clarke’s, with just a hint of panic thrown in. “Is Bellamy with you?”

 

They made eye contact across the room.

 

“Yeah,” Clarke admitted slowly. “Why?”

 

Raven sighed, and in the near distance, a very distinct wail echoed through the speaker. “Bellamy left his phone, so I can’t reach him.”

 

“What’s going on?” Bellamy asked, alerting Raven to his presence as he stepped a little closer to the phone and Clarke in the process. “Everything okay?”

 

She sighed again, Gabe’s cries only growing louder with every passing second. “He’s throwing up. I think it’s time you came home.”

 

“Okay,” Bellamy accepted with reluctance. “I’ll be there soon.”

 

With Raven hanging up, the two were left alone. Again. And the silence was deafening. Clarke couldn't stand it, the thick atmosphere. She was finding it hard to breathe, to think, to act and feel like a normal human being in that moment. But then again, maybe she wasn't one. Normal people wouldn't do this, abandon the people they loved.

 

“How did you get here?” she found herself asking him, just glad that she had something to communicate.

 

“I walked.”

 

Clarke furrowed her brow. “Jesus, Bellamy. How long did that take you?”

 

Though they lived in the same small city, it was quite a trek to be taking at such a late hour. She remembered the one time she had made the same journey. Her car had broke down, roughly half way home, so she decided it was best to just walk the rest of the way. It had taken twenty minutes for half the journey alone, the full would've been close to forty.

 

“Twenty five,” he mumbled and her eyes widened. “I was angry,” he gave as means of an explanation. “I didn't have my keys to drive, and I forgot my phone to call an Uber. So I walked.”

 

Sighing, Clarke stood, hearing her joints crack, and walked towards the kitchen counter, grabbing her keys. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

 

Bellamy was quick to adamantly refuse. Zipping up his winter jacket, he spared her one final glance, before dropping it quickly to the floor. “Don’t bother,” he muttered, broken and defeated. “I guess I’ll just have to get use to not relying on you anymore.”

 

Her shoulders visibly sagged. “Bell, don’t be like that.”

 

But he either ignored her or seemingly didn't hear. “I hope you find yourself, Clarke,” he said, reaching for the door handle, opening it slowly, “and I hope everything will turn out like you want it to.”

 

He didn't slam the door when he left, didn't show how angry he was. No, it just clicked softly behind him, a gentle, mundane gesture.

 

It hurt almost more.

 

Clarke allowed herself ten seconds. Ten seconds to make sure he was out of hearing range. Ten seconds to try and understand what just happened. Ten seconds to breathe.

 

And then she fell apart. She registered the sound of screaming, realising the only way to smother the sound was if she brought her hands to her mouth. She sobbed into her fingers, releasing the pent up sorrow. And once she was done with being sad, she turned angry instead. Cursing at no one in particular, she slammed her fists into the door and into the walls surrounding. Then, just because she could, she destroyed the blank canvas. It lay in white shreds, the wooden frame shattered and splintered.

 

A metaphor for her life, really.

 

***

 

In the days that followed, a barrage of attempts were made to make her stay. None were successful, though Jasper, surprisingly, was the one who turned up at her door in the most wrecked state. He had a saddlebag in his hands, his lips trembling and his eyes wide. He said nothing, didn't even try, just pushed the bag into her hands and mumbled a defeated, “See ya.”

 

It took her a while to take a peak inside, but once she did, she broke down too.

 

Jasper had purchased a leather-bound album, each page filled with photographs, capturing the memories of their childhood to teenage to adult years. Clarke spent hours that night, flipping through the pages, tears falling onto the plastic sleeves. If the aim was to guilt her into staying, it was so close to working. She was so close to losing it all.

 

There were photos of each of the delinquents at the science fair, at school dances, class photos. At the beach, the diner, on hikes and by the poolside. Perfect little moments. Captured forever.

 

But there was a select few in particular that she couldn't help reverting her eyes back to. It was on the very last page, Jasper probably having placed them there as the deciding factor. There were four in total, all from the same night or morning following. Clarke didn't even know they existed…until now.

 

***

 

_8 years ago:_

 

Clarke stared down at the table littered with alcohol, frown plastered on her brow as she tried to figure out a concoction that would taste both good and get her pleasantly buzzed. She wasn't a big drinker, never had been. Being only freshly eighteen, she had only recently delved into the world of parties and alcohol. Not that she really enjoyed it. They weren't her thing. But it was Halloween, and her friends had insisted on coming to this stupid thing, so here she was — dressed as a half assed scarecrow (mainly an excuse to wear one of Bellamy’s plaid shirts), trying to figure out how to numb her nerves and attempting to look more experienced with this sort of thing than she really was.

 

“Bellamy Blake’s here.” Two girls were suddenly opposite her, too invested in their own conversation to even notice her presence. They were dressed as the classic angel and devil best friend duo, their glittery makeup sparkling under the twinkling lights above them. They were hot, and Clarke both envied and admired them at the same time.

 

“I know,” the devil replied, trying and failing to unscrew the lid off a bottle of vodka with her excessively long nails. She gave up mere seconds later, clearly impatient, resorting to using her teeth instead. “I love that sexy nerd thing he has going for him,” she continued once she had succeeded, pouring a sizeable amount of the liquid into her red solo cup with the lid still between her teeth. She followed it up with cranberry juice, but only a mere splash. This girl wasn't messing around.

 

“You going there tonight?” her friend asked her, mixing herself her own drink.

 

“Thinking about it.” The devil spat the lid back onto the table, clearly undisturbed about how impolite the action was. “I heard he’s good.”

 

Clarke tried to not frown at the comment, but she was pretty sure she failed at doing so. Not that it mattered, she was a mere shadow to these girls. They couldn't have cared less if she was there or not.

 

“Who told you that?” the angel asked curiously.

 

“Roma. She lost her v-card to him when they were like sixteen or something.”

 

They were gone as quickly as they arrived, leaving the stunned blonde standing there. Alone. Left to her own thoughts and devices. And Clarke wasn't sure why, but the overwhelming feeling that consumed her was anger. Her and Bellamy were in no means a couple, not officially. They’d kissed. Once. A mere peck on the lips when he had dropped her home after one of their late night adventures. But that was it, and there was no discussion about it afterwards. It was just something that happened and then was seemingly forgotten all the same. But Clarke didn't want it to be forgotten. She was only just coming to realise it, but she was pretty sure that she might've been falling in love with him. Her best friend. Someone who had always been there, in her friendship group. But now, he was being seen in a different light.

 

And now some girl was trying to get with him tonight? Yeah, not a chance. It took a moment to place her finger on it but when she did, there was no denying the feeling.

 

She was jealous. Jealous that other girls still had a chance. Jealous that some people could so easily admit their feelings to a person. Jealous that Bellamy wasn't only hers.

 

Clarke picked up the vodka that the duo had abandoned and filled her solo cup half full, the rest with lemonade, and threw back most of it without a second thought. It burned, the liquid searing her throat, though she pushed through it as to not cough and splutter. She was determined to be stronger than that, cooler than that. Determined to show that she was very much an adult now, and could do adult things. Like drink. Like party. Like tell her best friend that she wanted them to become more than just that to each other.

 

She made her way quickly back to her group of friends, already growing anxious about being away from her comfort bubble for so long, and slid easily in between Bellamy and Jasper. The former wrapped his arm around her shoulder, bringing her against his side. It wasn't an unusual action. Bellamy had always been openly affectionate with his friends, hugging them regularly, throwing his arm around their shoulders like he was doing now to her. But what was unaccustomed was the way he stared down at her, an unreadable expression of his face.

 

“What?” Clarke asked him quietly, as to not disturb the other conversations around him.

 

There was a crinkle in his brow that was quickly smothered when he noticed her eyes trailing to it. He tried to hide behind a blank mask, but he wasn't the greatest at hiding his feelings. “Er, nothing,” he replied as a weak excuse. He took notice of the cup in her hand, finding it to be the perfect excuse to change the topic. “You’re drinking?”

 

“Yeah.” She nodded at the beer in his own hand. “So are you. Is there a problem?”

 

“No problem,” he replied, almost defensively. “Just surprised. You hardly ever drink.”

 

Clarke pouted her ruby red lips, frowning. “Can’t a girl have a little fun sometimes? Let loose.”

 

“Of course.”

 

He smirked down at her, the arm that lay on her shoulders now sliding down to rest mid way down her back, his fingers resting on her ribcage. It was a warm, heavy weight. She melted right into him, resting her head just below his shoulder, closing her eyes. She allowed herself to bask in the atmosphere. Casual chatter between those in her near surrounds, thumping music of whoops of laughter and cheers from those on the patio dance floor, and the steady thump of Bellamy’s heartbeat.

 

It comforted her knowing that as long as she felt that, the reliable thumps and his heavy hand, then others couldn't steal him away from her. It was a win-win.

 

 _Flash._ Click.

 

“Jasper,” she heard Bellamy grumble. “What are doing?”

 

“Memories!” their friend replied as means of an explanation. It was a bit random, but it was Jasper. Everything he did was a little bit odd.

 

So they let it slide.

 

Three minutes later, it was forgotten all together.

 

“Jello shots!” Clarke heard a voice shriek, fluttering her eyes open to find Harper with a tray, making her way through the crowd to deliver the little blue packages to her friends. Clarke realised, just as Harper edged closer, that she still hadn't finished the drink she had first made herself. So she threw it all back quickly, coughed only once, before reaching out to take another hit. She downed the jello shot with considerably more ease.

 

Bellamy’s grip on her ribs tightened.

 

“What now?” she hadn't realised that she had said the words aloud until he was answering her.

 

“Just,” he murmured quietly, leaning down so the others wouldn't hear, “you’re a lightweight, Clarke. You might want to slow it down.”

 

She thought about taking on his advice, but a pretty little devil caught her eye just beyond him, lingering in the crowd, her evil-eyed gaze on her best friend. Clarke couldn't let that happen, let the devil corrupt him and sentence him to a life without. But the only way Clarke would ever be able to admit that she had feelings for him was if she was drunk. And she wanted to admit her feelings, yearned to let him know. So getting drunk was her only option.

 

So she reached out, snatched the jello shot he had taken for himself and threw it back all the same. Clarke sent him a challenging smile when she was finished, expecting him to huff a sort a sort of surprised laugh. Shrug it off. But he didn’t. He frowned, chewed gently on his lower lip before dropping his hand to her waist and manoeuvring her so that she was forced to face him straight on.

 

“Is there something you want to talk about?

 

“No,” she lied, but it wasn't that easy.

 

Bellamy Blake should've been a detective. The name had a ring to it. She giggled at the thought.

 

The man in question sighed, his hand reaching out to stroke gently at her faux freckled cheek, and just when she was beginning to believe it was a romantic gesture, he took a detour and tugged at her blonde braid.

 

She huffed, annoyed. “Bellameeeeee,” Clarke whined, like a child, only not as cute.

 

With only a raise of an eyebrow he stared down at her. Still unreadable. Covered. Careful. “Come on,” he murmured to her, taking her by the hand and leading her away from the group. “Let’s talk.”

 

They found themselves squished in a singular egg chair, thighs and sides pressed together alike. It was on a private patio, so there weren't too many party goers threatening to interrupt the peace. It was nice. Quieter. A little more calming than compared to the drunken dancers and hookups scattered around the backyard.

 

Somewhere along the way, Bellamy had revealed to her a plastic water bottle. He encouraged her to drink some, but when she was bored with the taste, she found herself playing with the plastic label instead. She liked fiddling with things, keeping hers hands busy. They sat in silence, though it wasn't uncomfortable. It was as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

 

Clarke’s heavy head fell onto her best friend’s shoulder, simply basking in the atmosphere.

 

A singular flash emerged from the bushes near the corner of the yard, but Clarke shrugged it off.

 

“Are you going to tell me?” Bellamy asked her softly, bringing her thoughts back to the present.

 

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Nah,” she breathed, needing more time for the alcohol to kick in before she let it slip. “Not yet.”

 

“I’ll wait,” he whispered, intertwining his fingers with hers before squeezing them. “Whenever you're ready.”

 

***

 

_Present day:_

 

There were plenty of times Clarke faltered in her decision. Mostly they occurred at nighttime, when she was left to her own thoughts, had time to assess her emotions. Alone. She’d have to get use to that feeling, wouldn't she? She didn't have the most outgoing personality, probably would only make a measly amount of friends in Oregon. But didn't matter. More time to work on herself, right?

 

So she followed through with her plans, kept her head high and followed every procedure one did when moving cities. No one really offered to help her pack up her life, little acts of defiance on their behalf, but there wasn't too much she was taking with her anyway.

 

She sold some on Craigslist, to a couple of broke students and a young couple. Clarke tried to not envy that particular duo.

 

She failed.

 

Niylah also came over to collect some of her own furniture, acting genuinely surprised when she found out that Clarke was leaving the city.

 

“What about Bellamy?”

 

Clarke shrugged, pretending and failing to act unfazed. Apparently it was common knowledge that she had called it off with her fiancé because of her best friend. Niylah didn't even flinch at the mention of his name anymore. It was the plain and simple truth.

 

“I thought…” But Niylah seemingly didn't know where to begin.

 

“You thought I’d latch onto him immediately?” Clarke offered, but it sounded almost bitter. That wasn't the intention.

 

Niylah gave her a defeated sort of smile. Clarke hadn't forgotten she had kind eyes, but now they almost hurt to look into. “Something like that.”

 

“I’m sorry, Ni,” Clarke murmured, but she too found herself trailing off.

 

They both grew visibly uncomfortable in the mere seconds that followed, and Clarke had never felt such relief when her ex announced to her that it was best if she left. The brunette reached out to squeeze her shoulder as a final goodbye. “Have fun in Oregon, Clarke,” she added as a final sentiment before she left.

 

Clarke had a feeling she wouldn't be seeing her anymore.

 

***

 

The days dragged on slower than they had ever after that, more so than her days at Harvard. She knew that she’d be pissing a lot of people off with this decision, but hadn't realised how isolated she would become even before leaving. The group chat was dead. No one wanted to hang out anymore.

 

That’s why it was such a surprise when she heard a knock at the door.

 

Opening it, she found Octavia Blake. The fiery, intimidating brunette herself. Such an appearance was odd. Out of all of her friends, Octavia was one that she was probably the least closest with. They had been, early in their childhood. The two were inseparable, the original founders of the delinquent group. But as time went on, their tastes and interests differed. Though still friends, they didn't click like they use to. And their relationship grew strained after Clarke’s first fight with Bellamy. Whilst the others opted not to choose sides, Octavia made hers completely clear.

 

There was really only one main thing they shared in common nowadays; their love for Bellamy Blake.

 

The brunette had Gabe on her hip, the baby lighting up when he saw her. He thrashed against his aunty’s hold, smiling, two bottom teeth sprouting from his bottom gums. And Clarke couldn't help but reach for him in that moment, her own smile flourishing her features.

 

“Hey, little man,” Clarke cooed, kissing his cheeks as he giggled. Then, a little more reserved she turned to Octavia. “Hey.”

 

She shot her a forced smile before peering through the door and into the living room. “You’re really doing it, huh?” she asked, surprised. Most of her furniture was all but gone, Clarke’s once homely apartment appearing now strikingly bare. Empty, quite like herself.

 

“Yeah,” she breathed, bringing her fingers to Gabe’s soft curls of hair. They were constantly messy, much like his fathers. Clarke always had found a simple solace in trying to smooth them out. “I am.”

 

Octavia pursed her lips, perturbed. “I honestly didn't think you would go through with it.” She paused, looking the blonde dead in the eye. It looked as though she was holding something back.

 

“Just spit it out, O.”

 

Once she did, there was nothing stopping her. “I think you're a coward, Clarke.” She didn't beat around the bush. She let her truth and opinions be known, regardless of the outcome. It didn't matter who it would hurt. She didn't care. “I think you’re selfish and a coward. And I’m here, in a last-ditch effort, to make you understand that this is going to be the biggest mistake of your life.”

 

Clarke could only sigh. “It’s too late for that now. It’s final.”

 

Octavia shook her head, a hint of amusement. “It’s only final once you come back home a year and a half later, having not budged. I won’t stop until then.”

 

The blonde ushered the brunette inside, offered her a drink, which she refused immediately. Octavia meant business, wouldn't be disrupted with such simplistic offerings. She didn't sit down either. It was far more intimidating that way. The way Octavia found it ought to be.

 

“Why have you got Gabe?” Clarke asked as means of another distraction. “Where’s Bell?”

 

“Therapy.” Short. Sharp. Unforgiving. “He usually goes two hours a week. However, given the recent circumstances, he’s been going for four.”

 

Clarke furrowed her brow, bouncing the baby on her hip up and down when he grew discontented with the lack of exciting movement. She didn't know about Bellamy’s therapy. Had no idea. Sure, she was well aware that he was unhappy, though she didn't know that he was now actively working on the issue.

 

It was for the best, though. He surely needed it. She was just unaccustomed to him not telling her such things, is all. Usually, they told each other everything.

 

“Oh,” she breathed. “Right.”

 

“That’s all you have to say?” Octavia replied in a harsher tone, fury bubbling within her. Quick to anger, it was best to always remain on Octavia’s good side. The thing was, upsetting Octavia’s big brother would automatically condemn you to foe status.

 

The baby in her grasp jumped a little, spooked by the sudden outburst. She consoled him before he could fully erupt into a fit of terror. Such occurrence would only add to the increasingly tense environment.

 

But instead of replying to Octavia’s question, the blonde stayed silent. She was having an increasingly hard time trying to figure out the best thing to say nowadays, anyway. Silence was the best option.

 

“You really have no idea how much pain you're causing him, do you?”

 

Clarke gulped, silent still.

 

“God, you don't even care!”

 

That threw her off. That broke her. That made her unable to remain in her previous state. “I always cared,” she gritted out, shaking her head. “Don’t you dare start, O.”

 

Octavia flailed her arms, seemingly bewildered at such a statement. “Then what the hell is this?” She motioned to the near empty apartment, pointing to cardboard boxes littered across the flooring. “If you cared about him so much as you claim, you wouldn't be doing this to him.”

 

“I’m doing this for me,” she rebutted instantly. What was so hard about understanding that? “I needed time. So that’s what I’m doing.”

 

“One and half years is a bit much, don't you think?”

 

That, Clarke could agree with. But she didn't have a choice. The programme was set, unbendable and inflexible. And she had signed up without a second thought, because she was sad, and lonely, and her thought process was skewed. But there was no backing out now. A year and a half did seem like a drag, but she’d be visiting often. She wouldn't be missing out on too much. Would she?

 

She looked down at Gabe, toying innocently with a pendant hanging from her neck. He was so small, a pocket sized cutie. Bellamy’s words echoed in her mind. _When you get back, Gabe will be two. Walking, talking, an entirely different being. He won’t recognise you, won’t reach for you like he does now. You’ll be a stranger to him._

 

Gabe, noticing her gaze, dropped the pendant and instead lifted his little hand to pat at her cheek. She could've cried at such a sweet gesture.

 

“Yeah,” she admitted. “But I signed a contract.”

 

“Clarke, your mother is dating your boss. I’m pretty sure a few words with her could make that piece of paper null and void.”

 

Adamantly refusing, Clarke shook her head swift and firm. “I’m not talking to her.”

 

Octavia tried to hide her sly smile, but that was the one thing she was bad at. “Too bad.”

 

“What?”

 

“You’re having lunch with her and Kane on Friday. The Norwood. One o’clock.”

 

Clarke was now the one with fury exploding beneath her skin. Her bank face turned to anger. “You spoke to Abby?”

 

“No,” she shook her head, walking towards the pair to take her nephew back into her own arms, “you did. You emailed her last night.”

 

Anyone who knew Clarke for just a month knew how much she loathed contact with her mother. She could quite happily go the rest of her life without ever seeing her again. It was that bad. So knowing that Octavia had done this behind her back, without her knowledge, it was the most awful feeling in the world. She had been deceived, her trust shattered.

 

Shaking, she had never felt so exasperated in her life.

 

“You have no right to decide whether I see my mother or not. You have no right to do this. How dare you!”

 

The brunette on the receiving end positioned her nephew more comfortably on her hip, unfazed. “Clarke, the minute you decided you were going to abandon everyone here, I had every goddamn right.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeeyoooo, sorry I’ve been M.I.A for the last couple of weeks. Too much schoolwork, not enough hours in the day. 
> 
> Also, my tiredness apologies for any mistakes. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this little update. Please let me know what you think :)) 
> 
> Xx Sarah


	9. Can’t Pretend

Clarke stared at her contact list like she was trying to burn a hole through her phone screen. She was mad. It consumed her, burned through her veins. She was cancelling, that was obvious. Never did she want contact with the woman any more than she needed too. Birthday wishes and Christmas greetings were fine, that, she could handle. But this? This was a nightmare. Prolonged conversation over such a sensitive subject made her stomach churn. And so, she planned to keep this call short, sharp and to the point.

 

She pressed the number quickly before she had time to second guess herself.

 

“Hey,” Clarke murmured the second Abby picked up the phone. “Sorry if this is a bad time.”

 

Her mother, obviously shocked about such an out of place call, took a few seconds to gather herself and reply to her daughter. When she did though, it still sounded as if she was trying to come to terms with it all. “Not at all, Clarke. It’s always good to hear your voice.”

 

“Yeah,” Clarke sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She almost returned the sentiment, but now was not the time for lying. “Um—“ she began slowly, only to be cut off.

 

“You’re cancelling, aren't you?”

 

She hated the disappointed tone in her voice, almost accusatory as well. She wanted to scream. How dare she have the nerve to sound that way, to act as though their severed relationship was entirely Clarke’s fault.

 

“Yes.”

 

Abby huffed a bitter sort of laugh. “I told Marcus it was too good to be true.”

 

Biting down on her lip, Clarke tried not to snap at her. She knew, ultimately, that that was exactly what her mother wanted. It had somehow been engraved into her mind that her mother thrived off of conflict, off of tension. She refused to add fuel to the fire.

 

“Actually,” Clarke managed reply relatively calmly, “I wasn't the one that arranged the lunch in the first place. And I’d feel uncomfortable attending something that I didn't agree to.”

 

She could practically hear her mother’s frown. “You didn't send the email?”

 

“No.” She stated it plainly, rubbing at her right temple with her free hand. “Octavia did.”

 

“And why would she do that?”

 

Clarke clicked her tongue, still very much annoyed about the whole ordeal. “She can’t fathom the fact that i’m a grown woman, willing and capable of making my own decisions.”

 

Abby sighed, she could sense a fed up tone. “This is about Oregon, isn't it?”

 

She should've known that every aspect of her work life was being shared. Whether or not Kane actually intended to, he had breached her privacy. Though really, she didn't blame him fully. It was almost guaranteed that Abby had drilled him, pried information about her daughter from him. He was just caught in the cross fire.

 

“Partly.”

 

“And the other part?”

 

Clarke chose not to answer, staying silent in hopes that her mother would get the hint.

 

She didn’t.

 

“Clarke? You there?”

 

“Yeah,” she breathed, pinching the bridge of her nose yet again. “Look, Mom, I don't want to talk about it.”

 

“Well, apparently Octavia thinks you need to.” That was Abigail Griffin, constantly pushing for answers. She couldn't just let it rest, let the topic slide. Her mother was like a sponge, soaking up every single hint of information she could gather. If she didn't have a full time job, she’d be one of those inquisitive neighbours, flicking her curtains and nosing around in other peoples business. A nuisance. “Though, to be honest with you, it surprises me. If any Blake were to pull something like this, I thought it would've been Bellamy.”

 

Clarke’s heart lurched at the name drop.

 

“How is he doing nowadays?” her mother asked, and all hopes of this conversation being a short and sharp one was crushed. “With the baby and Deni, right? The little girl.”

 

“Desi,” Clarke corrected. “It’s Desi and Gabe. And they're fine.” Well, close to fine. Gabe was teething, so he sometimes went through stages of discomfort. And Desi sometimes got a little lost, trying to navigate this big, wide world. She missed her own mother, still couldn't fully understand why she was taken away from her. But they were coping. They were close to fine. That’s what mattered.

 

Abby’s voice significantly dropped when she fired her next question. “And Bellamy? How’s he doing?”

 

Clarke said nothing once more and this time, Abby caught on.

 

“He’s the other part in partly, isn't he?”

 

***

 

Lorelei Tsing sat in her armchair, back impeccably straight, her gaze soft but inquisitive. She had this habit of tapping her pen on the edge of her clipboard whenever she prepared herself to ask him a question. And so when she began, Bellamy had just a few short seconds to brace himself. “Tell me about Gina.”

 

Bellamy rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward as he took a breath. With his eyes trained on the floor, he frowned. He knew this question was bound to come up. Inevitable, really. She played a major part in the root of his problems, though not in the way you would think. She did nothing wrong. She was beautiful. And kind. And smart. It was he that couldn't give her the full amounts of love that she deserved. And the guilt consumed him.

 

“How did you two meet?”

 

He couldn't help but give a hint of a smile at the memory, though it hurt, it was still a good one. With yet another breath, he rubbed his sweaty hands on his thighs and delved into the story.

 

How they had, as strangers, booked a stay at the same hostel in Sardinia roughly five years ago. For Bellamy, it was a weekend getaway to get away from his studies in Athens. For Gina, it was a solo backpacking stop, traveling around Europe in an attempt to ‘find herself.’ Immediately upon arrival, they had collectively realised their mistake upon booking the place. It had been dirty, unkempt and flooded with bums whom of which they would have been forced to share a room with. They banded together relatively quickly, bonding over their east coast roots and disgust over their accommodation. And so they left, scrounged up enough money to afford a stay in a nicer hotel across town, and did what any twenty somethings would do given the opportunity to spend a night with an attractive stranger. They made a night of it. A particularly wild night.

 

They parted ways the next day, both truly believing that they would most likely never see each other again. They had fun, enjoyed each others company. But they were young, following different paths. A one-night stand it had ought to be, they collectively decided it would be.

 

How wrong that simple, stupid, naive thought had been.

 

Gina had tracked him down in Athens three months later, the mound of her belly just visible through her floral dress, and confessed with teary eyes that it was his. A baby was in Gina’s stomach, and he was responsible for putting it there.

 

Though terrified at the thought of having a child with a relative stranger, he had promised to never abandon her, to support her no matter what. The good guy. Always the good guy. And as the pregnancy progressed, their relationship did too. Everything, in a weird sort of messed up way, seemed fine. Bellamy finished his degree two months after the news was first revealed to him. Then they moved back to the states, broke the news, bought a small apartment together, and just three months after that, Desiree Georgina Blake was born. Desi, for short. It suited her far more.

 

“Did you imagine a future with her? Gina, I mean.” Tsing asked when the story was over.

 

Bellamy frowned. What kind of a question was that?

 

“She’s the mother of my children,” he stated, looking his therapist straight in the eye. “Of course I pictured my future with her.”

 

Tsing pursed her lips thoughtfully, squinting her eyes as she did so. “Not all those who have children with someone choose to stay, Bellamy. You know that. So why did you stay with Gina? Did you want to? Or was it obligation?”

 

“I-I—“ His skin turned clammy and he found it hard to breathe. It felt as though someone had looped a cable tie around his neck, inch by painstaking inch pulling it tighter. Until suddenly, suffocatingly, they stopped. The tie clicked into place. Stuck shut. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't function. But then someone pushed that person away, grabbed a pair of scissors and snipped that little cord away. He could breathe, he could think and he could manage to formulate a three worded answer. “I loved her.”

 

“Why was that so hard for you to admit, Bellamy?”

 

Tsing was unrelenting today. Maybe she was having a bad day. The thought scared him. Clients were the ones meant to be having the bad days, not the people employed to help them.

 

“It wasn't hard to admit,” he said, rubbing at his neck where the imagined cord had just been snipped. “I just-,” he took a breath. “Sometimes I feel as though I didn't love her enough. I feel guilty, because there she was, so beautiful and kind and willing to love me back…and I could only give her half of what she deserved.”

 

“Because you loved Clarke at the same time.” Though acting rough, Tsing was still on the money.

 

“Yes.”

 

“So was the way you love Clarke the same way you loved Gina? Or was it a different kind of love?”

 

Bellamy was quicker to answer this time. He didn't stutter. “Different.”

 

“How so?”

 

The thing was, it was hard to put the exact feeling into words. Bellamy couldn't pinpoint what he felt. He just knew there was a difference. “I-I wasn't forced to love Gina,” he emphasised, frowning whilst still deep in thought. He kept getting the feeling that Tsing was implying that he did. “I didn't feel the need to love her because we had a kid together. Maybe I felt the need to stay in the beginning, but I was never forced to feel a certain way about her. I-I just did. I fell in love with her.”

 

Tsing nodded, staring intently still. “Describe her. What was she like?”

 

With a small smile, Bellamy immersed himself in remembering the good times. “She was so self-assured, confident, she didn't take shit from anyone. She saw the world and decided to make it her own. People warned her about backpacking across Europe alone and she ignored them, had the absolute time of her life doing so, too.” Bellamy’s smile grew a little wider. “She was rowing her own boat, and I just happened to jump in it and go along for the ride with her.”

 

“But there was a soft side to her too. She was gentle. And so kind. She was forever taking photos on those disposable camera things, you know the ones?” He didn't wait for a reply, just kept going. “Gina loved the thrill of not knowing whether or not the picture turned out good or not. It was a game to her. She never took anything too seriously, anyway. She was just so inherently good, so content. Nobody really saw it like I did, but she was such a gentle soul.” Bellamy sighed, bringing himself to say these final words. “And she was such a good mom to Desi. Would've been amazing with Gabe, too. I really miss her.”

 

Tsing didn't nod this time, like she normally did. “I know you do,” she said, plain and to the point. “And now you're afraid of losing the other woman you love. But in a different way.”

 

“Yes.” There was no point denying it. “But she's leaving anyway. No one can change her mind.”

 

“And she's done that before?”

 

Bellamy nodded, staring back at his hands. He noticed a hangnail and started to pick at it, ignoring the slight sting of the sensation as he did so. “Yes. She went to study at Harvard even though she didn't really want to, only did it to please her family. She left.”

 

“And how did that make you feel?” There it was. That generic, stupid question seemingly all therapists ask. It made him grimace inwardly. It wasn't just a matter of revealing a feeling, it was so much more.

 

Bitterly, he replied, “Not great.”

 

Tsing, sensing this, softened her expression ever so slightly. “It angered you, but it didn't hinder your feelings towards her.”

 

“I’ll never stop,” he sighed, somewhat angry with him own self with admitting it. “She infuriates me, exasperates me, knows every single one of my weaknesses. But…I’ll always love her.”

 

“Describe it.”

 

He frowned, pensive. “The way I love her?”

 

His company began tapping her pen again, almost as if she was growing increasingly impatient with him. Taking a glance at the clock, he realised why. They had already gone 15 minutes overtime. And yet, Bellamy couldn't bring himself to care. He’d take as long as he goddamn needed.

 

Bellamy sat a little further back in his chair, reminiscing over something that Clarke had said to him as a teenager. She had managed to describe it perfectly.

 

***

 

_8 years ago:_

 

Clarke was drunk. She wasn't a drinker, hardly ever touched a drop of alcohol. And now she was drunk.

 

Bellamy didn't really know how to react to the situation.

 

“Clarke, please just sit down,” he tried for roughly the fifteenth, sighing exaggeratedly when she didn't do as he pleased. Instead, she just kept swaying on the grass in front of him. Well, swaying was putting it kindly. She was mainly stumbling to the music, giggling as she did so. She was having the time of her life. But it kind of terrified him, seeing her so out of it.

 

“I’m going to take you home.”

 

That, at least, caught her attention. She turned to him, seemingly appalled at such a suggestion. “Nooooo,” she whined, pouting as she stumbled toward the egg chair he was sitting on. “I don't want to leave.”

 

“Then sit.”

 

She fell onto his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, so close that he could smell the perfume on her neck, the alcohol on her breath. “Better?” she asked him, batting her eyelashes in a flirtatious sort of manner.

 

“Sure,” he grumbled back in his signature tone, securing her by wrapping his arm around her back. He tried to not let this sort of proximity bother him, but when she was right there staring at him like that, he was finding it a little difficult.

 

Giggling, she pressed their foreheads together, now closer than ever. “I’ve never felt this happy.”   
Bellamy tired evening out his breathing a little, but the struggle was real. “You’re drunk.”

 

“No,” she breathed, fanning it across his lips. Then, frowning, “Well, maybe. But I don’t feel happy just because I’m drunk.” Clarke tapped at his cheek. “But it’s also because I’m with you, silly.”

 

His stomach lurched. “Is that so?” He was rather surprised he managed to sound so calm in that moment.

 

She nodded, exaggerating the motion like an excitable four year old. Their heads knocked together as she did so, which only made her laugh harder, her head falling to his shoulder instead as she tried smothering her laughter.

 

“Oh, Clarke,” he breathed and couldn't help but smile himself. “You’re going to regret this in the morning.”

 

They stayed like that for a while, Clarke giggling into his neck as Bellamy held her. He was sure they were getting a few odd looks, but he couldn't have cared less. With Clarke, nothing else really mattered.

 

“Can I tell you something?” she asked very suddenly, pulling back to look at him. Clarke obviously felt the need to grab his face in her hands, bringing him even closer. Not only was he now struggling to even out his breathing, he was struggling to even gather enough oxygen to function.

 

He nodded, a much simpler motion than trying to speak.

 

“You know that feeling you get, when it’s cold out and you've been exposed to it all day?”

 

Bellamy frowned.

 

She noticed his confusion, though kept going.

 

“So you run yourself a bubble bath. You use the expensive bath stuff, the nice smelling stuff and it’s all very aesthetically pleasing. You get naked and slip into the steaming water, and for the first blissful few seconds — everything warms. Like you're on a high. Your skin prickles, and you find yourself shivering. Not because you're cold, though. But because it feels so good, and safe, and warm.”

 

She was drunkenly rambling, but that was seemingly the point. Never would she have said this when she was sober.

 

“Sure,” he murmured gently, holding her a little closer. “Where exactly is this going, huh?”

 

“I’m getting there,” she grumbled, pressing her fingers deeper into the skin of his cheeks. “If you would've just let me finish…I’d be able to say, that the same feeling you get when you step into a hot bath is the same feeling I get when I’m around you. I feel good, and safe, and warm.”

 

A heavy weight was lifted off of his shoulders. Atlas relieved of his burden.

 

“I think I’m in love you, Bellamy.”

 

***

 

_Present day:_

 

“Like that.”

 

Tsing pursed her lips. “Warm and safe and good?” When Bellamy confirmed with a nod, she added, “Clarke has a habit of leaving people behind, you specifically. And yet she makes you feel safe. Why is it that someone so temperamental makes you feel that way? She’s obviously not stable, isn't a reassuring presence to you. So why?”

 

Time stopped. It hit hard. It hurt.

 

A beat, then a sense of anger washed over him, staring at his therapist with slanted eyes. He flared his nostrils, hating the striking audacity of the woman opposite him. Though already overtime, he was the one deciding now that this session was over. Because he couldn't answer that question, didn't really know how. It was condescending, he was the source of Tsing’s own amusement.

 

“I-,” he hated the things she was putting him through today. He couldn't deal with the onslaught of emotions, all of them being piled onto his already very weak shoulders. Atlas. He was Atlas. He held the weight of the world once more. “I have to go.”

 

Bellamy stood without a second thought, now very much aware that he no longer wished to be in the same room as this woman. Actually, he no longer wished to see her ever again.

 

Tsing sighed. “You can’t hide from this, Bellamy.”

 

But she was wrong. He wasn't hiding from it.

 

He was wrapping his hands around it, squeezing tight and trying to kill it.

 

***

 

_9:38 AM_  
**Clarke**  
_Hey_

 

Clarke stared at the three lettered word with a vengeance. Hey? Who was she? That was the most pathetic opening of a text she had ever sent anyone. Sending it the Bellamy was almost laughable. He was her best friend. Well, use to be. She didn't really know whether or not he still deemed her worthy of that title anymore.

 

But it was done. The message had already been sent. There was no going back now.

 

She waited all day for a reply. During that time she had managed to pack more of her boxes with the intention of putting them in storage, managed to cull a whole heap of things that no longer had any value to her and also sold of a few more furniture pieces. A dull day, really.

 

Clarke collapsed back onto her mattress at the end of the day, and checking her phone for the twentieth time that day, noticed again the lack of reply. Her lip trapped itself between her teeth, biting down hard to try and diminish the pain inside her.

 

He was ignoring her.

 

Fair enough. She’d hurt him. Badly. He had every right to do what he deemed best when dealing with such a situation, when dealing with her.

 

But that didn't disguise the fact that she desperately needed to contact him. Despite hating feeling so small, she texted him again.

 

_7:54 PM_  
**Clarke**  
_I want to know if I could take Desi out. I want to tell her myself. Is that okay?_

 

Clarke fiddled around on social media for a while, liked a few of her friends posts, but after half an hour decided it was a lost cause. She threw her phone to the side and stared at the ceiling instead.

 

***

 

“I can’t keep having this fight with you,” Gina murmured, her lower lip quivering. She never yelled, had never once raised her voice at him. Somehow, whenever they fought, it hurt much more. She never sounded angry, just defeated. He absolutely hated it.

 

“Then stop.” The solution, in his eye, was plain and simple. “I love you, okay? So drop it.”

 

But Gina wasn't known for listening to him. She was entirely her own. Pushing forward, she fell back onto the couch, her thumb sweeping across the swell of her stomach from where her hand rested upon it. “Not as much as you love Clarke.”

 

There it was. The bomb.

 

“Gina,” he breathed, though seemingly didn't know where to carry on.

 

Bellamy closed his eyes and sighed, heaviness and excruciating pain pounding against his skull. He tried to wish it away, but pretty soon he gave up all together, deciding to just suck it up and bear it. When he opened his eyes again, no longer was Gina across the room, but instead right in front of him. Face inches from his own, she stared into his eyes, never blinking. It unnerved him.

 

“I’m not forcing you to stay.”

 

“I’m not leaving,” he replied back instantly, as equally calm as she was.

 

Gina sniffled, raising her eyebrows as an almost challenge. “Maybe you should.”

 

He could feel his chest beginning to heave, breathing becoming a task. “No,” he managed to choke out, her own chin beginning to quiver. He could feel tears trailing the length of his cheeks, but he chose to ignore them. His landed lifted, an attempt to reach out and touch her, but she pulled back before he had the chance to. “Gina, please. I’m sorry, okay? I know I was being a dick, but I love you and I love Desi and I love this baby.” He motioned to her stomach. “Don’t do this.”

 

Shaking her head slowly, she finally blinked. “You’re doing it.”

 

He frowned.

 

She continued.

 

“I understand that Clarke and Niylah getting engaged is hard for you, and I know that you still have underlying feelings for her.”

 

Bellamy tried opening his mouth to dispute the true claim, but he silenced when he saw the hurt in her eyes. It was best if he just let her finish.

 

“You can deny it all you want,” she whispered softly, defeated, “but it’s the truth. And I've accepted that already, that I wasn't exactly your first option. But you seemed devoted to me, to Desi. I could live with the fact that I was second best, because you never actually made me feel like I was.”

 

He knew it was coming, could even see it playing out word for word, action for action.

 

“Except for tonight. Tonight, it was very clear.”

 

Bingo.

 

“I’ll always be your second best. A-a-and I think now you're just starting to realise how much Clarke is slipping away from your grasp, how she’s moving on without you.” Gina gave him one of those sad smiles that he loathed, the type that made him feel like he was the scum of the earth, the cause of all her pain. Heck, maybe he was. “And you're terrified. And you're acting out to show it.” Gina took a step away and turned her back to him, her floral kimono fluttering gently as she did so. “I just wished you could've realised it before we agreed to have this second baby.”

 

He followed her, always a step behind no matter how fast he walked. “Gina,” he called. “Wait.”

 

“It’s a boy, by the way.”

 

She just kept walking, down the dark hallway in their small apartment. Yet, this hallway wasn't their normal hallway. It dragged on, a never-ending passage way, passing doors that held no familiarly. Bellamy noticed too, as he followed the figure, that it was gaining further distance.

 

“I want to name him Gabriel. Like the baby from The Giver.”

 

“Gina, just stop.”

 

But she was ignoring him, she was hurt, and she was slipping away.

 

“Gina!”

 

Nothing.

 

“Gina!”

 

Zilch.

 

“Gina! I swear to God if you don't stop right now—”

 

The floral kimono ceased, almost blending into the dark. He stopped too for some reason, feeling as though someone had suddenly nailed his feet to the ground. Even if he tried, he wouldn't be able run. Bellamy tried to speak too, though it felt as though his mouth was full of marbles, choking him almost. It was a struggle to even breathe. He was stuck in a constant state of discomfort.

 

Never had he felt so scared when the figure he thought was his girlfriend turned, the kimono dropping significantly to reveal his own daughter. A magic quick change. She was swimming in the garment, a mere four year old trying to appear older.

 

“Are you leaving, Daddy?”

 

He tried to reply, but couldn’t. So he shook his head violently instead.

 

Desi persisted, tears now welling in her brown eyes. “Don’t go.” Then, like a mantra. “Don’t leave, don't go, don't leave, don't go.” With every repetition, she took a step forward, the kimono dragging behind her like a train. Slowly. Calculated. Increasingly eery.

 

And there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it.

 

She stopped a foot away, staring up at him with inquisitive eyes. “Do you love me?”

 

He nodded.

 

The child shook her head. “Tell me.”

 

Bellamy tried but gagged almost instantly. He couldn't form a singular word.

 

His daughter grew increasingly agitated with this, raising her voice in a hard-hitting demand. “Tell me!”

 

The only thing Bellamy was capable doing in that moment was crying. So that’s what he did. He sobbed uncontrollably, screwing his eyes shut to block out the sight of his innocent daughter drilling him like a military sergeant, successfully intimidating him.

 

“Am I a burden?” she asked after a while, sounding much closer than she had before. It was far more soft spoken, too, sounded far more like his daughter.

 

That was the most terrifying moment. So much so that Bellamy woke up with a start.

 

Sweat dripped off every inch of his skin, though some of it might've been his own tears. He was panting too, gasping in the humid air around him as he kicked off the covers that consumed him. _It was a dream_ , he kept reminding himself, _just a bad, bad dream._ But it offered him little comfort.

 

Guilt, fear and anguish consumed him. All of those feelings sloshed around inside him, drunk off trepidation. Normally, when feeling exactly like this, he’d stumble his way to the kitchen and grab himself a beer. Now though, he couldn't even fathom leaving the safety of his mattress. Bellamy was trapped. Not with his feet to the ground like in his dream, but in his own state of mind in the real world.

 

Bellamy tried to calm himself down, tried to make himself stop crying, but it harder than it seemed. At least he was quiet, none of his children waking during his little show of emotion. Honestly, he wouldn't have had any idea how to deal with them in that moment. It sounded cruel, but that especially applied to his daughter. She’d indirectly terrified him.

 

The minutes ticked by with Bellamy’s state not improving. He was so exhausted, a headache increasingly growing stronger in his skull, but he couldn't sleep. Not after that ordeal. There was aways one thing to do and he hated it. Feeling so very weak, he reached for his phone from where it rested on the bedside table, the ultimate goal being to call his sister for some help, a shoulder to lean on, someone to confide in.

 

Instead, he found a message from Clarke.

 

Clarke. God, he found it hard to believe that someone could be both the bane of his existence whilst simultaneously still managing to be someone he loved so dearly. It was paradoxical. And as he thought of Clarke, as strange as it was, an overwhelming need to take a bath overwhelmed him.

 

It was exactly what he thought he needed. All that talk of baths earlier today had made him crave one.

 

So he did.

 

He hoped it would work. He hoped that he wouldn't have to call his younger sister. He didn't want to be a burden on her, the type that his dream had Desi believing she was.

 

Bellamy dragged himself out of his bedroom and down the hall. Taking a detour, he decided it was best to check on his children. He peeped through the crack in their bedroom door, finding both his son and daughter safe and well in their respective crib and bed. _They’re fine,_ he reminded himself, _They are both fine._

 

So he let the door softly click closed before carrying on with his journey, switching on every light source in his path just to be safe. He was like a child, scared of the dark. But in that moment, he didn't care. He just needed to run himself a bath. Under the bathroom cabinet he managed to find some lavender scented bath salts that Gina sometimes used after a long day, so he dropped in a handful, alongside a squirt of his kids bubble bath solution and set it to the perfect temperature. He then shed his sweat soaked garments and slipped into the water.

 

Following every instruction Clarke had drunkenly rambled on about on that Halloween night, he finally understood what she had meant. He shivered, completely consumed in the ecstasy like sensation for those first few seconds, and it hit him. Warm and safe and good. He felt warm, and safe, and so, so good. This was how she felt. This was how she loved him.

 

He was in heaven. And he didn't want to leave.

 

So he didn’t. He stayed in there until the early hours of the morning. A boy in a bath. Whenever the water stared to turn cold, he’d empty it a few inches and top it straight back up with hot water. The bubbles had dispersed early on, same with the sweet smelling lavender salts. But to him, it didn't matter. Bellamy just basked in his solitude, and the warmth, and the relative silence of Arkadia city at such a dead hour. And for just a little while, in his own little bubble, everything was fine.

 

It was only when Bellamy noticed the few rays of speckled sunlight coming through the frosted glass window that he realised just how many hours had passed him by. He got out, begrudgingly, dried himself off then trekked back to his room in an attempt to catch a quick dose before his children awoke. He hoped, actually make that prayed, that no other dreams would get in the way of that goal.

 

He went to set his alarm, planning on wishing it into being that his kids would miraculously sleep until at least 7:30, when he saw the message from Clarke that he never replied to.

 

Though his sense of comfort and safeness crashed around him, his shrivelled fingers managed to type back a short reply.

 

_6:52 AM_  
**Bellamy**  
_Ok. Desi finishes preschool at 1. You could pick her up?_

 

He pressed send without giving it a second thought, then collapsed back onto the pillows that, at the beginning on the night, had consumed him. The bath had made him braver, the daylight more so. Now, he just needed a nap. Or ten.

 

***

 

“Clarke!”

 

Desi sprinted towards the blonde like her life depended on it, like a clean shot bullet from a gun. She collided with Clarke’s legs so hard that she was sure she might've gotten whiplash. The child seemed unfazed though, beaming up at Clarke with the cutest smile.

 

“Hi!”

 

“Hey sweetheart,” she smiled, ruffling her hair gently. Clarke picked up the backpack Desi had discarded in her excitement and took her hand, leading her down the pathway littered with other parents and their children. Only, she wasn't a parent and Desi wasn't her child. They were the odd ones out. “Wanna go grab something to eat?”

 

The child nodded enthusiastically, talking her ear off all the way down the street, round the corner, and into the small cafe that Clarke use to visit as a teenager. They ordered chocolate milkshakes and blueberry muffins, talked a little about what Desi had learned about today and latest episode of Doc McStuffins. And as they chatted, innocently and without the fear or interruption, Clarke began to realise just how hard this would be.

 

Desiree Blake was one of the happiest children Clarke knew. From the moment she was born, she had a smile on her face and a cheeky giggle readily available at any moment. She was a pleasure to be around, a constant reminder that childhood innocence was a beautiful thing. She always had a question on the tip of her tongue, ready and willing to fill her brain with knowledge. It was only inevitable that Bellamy’s child would be somewhat of a nerd, the top of her class. She was half him. But following Gina’s passing, Clarke could see the effects it had on the four year old. Her usually bright smiles were dimmed, less questions were asked, less of the true Desiree Blake was on show.

 

And now Clarke was going to add to that. She was going to take the messy, cruel world that Desi was living in and shake it up further, sadistically laughing as the snowflakes of destruction fell around her.

 

She couldn't bring herself to do it. Not yet.

 

“Can we do something else?” Desi asked, lips and surrounding skin smeared with blue.

 

“Sure,” Clarke replied with an easy smile, using a napkin to wipe the blueberry tint away the best she could. “Come on.”

 

They ended up in a bead shop a couple of streets over. It was the kind of store that allowed you to pick out the beads you liked, then thread them onto a thin chain and keep them forever. The minute Desi entered, she was like a kid in a candy store. She squealed in delight at the sight of all the coloured beads, the endless combinations she could create. It was so heartwarming.

 

“I’m going to make this for you,” she decided, sticking her tongue out in concentration as she started threading her collection of seemingly random circular, triangular, thin, long and chunky beads onto her chain. There was something so funny about seeing children attempt such task deemed simple by the adult world. They looked like mini drunk people, too excitable for their own good and known for knocking over everything in their path. Adorable. “And you can make one for me.”

 

“Good plan,” Clarke concluded, threading her own blue and purple pearl like beads. She had a much more calmer approach to the task, being the dulled down, less excitable adult that she was. Clarke had also picked out a fox charm to hang in the middle, an ode to the stuffed kind that Desi slept with every night, endearingly named Mr Fox. The blonde thought it might be able to offer the kid a little comfort following what she was about to spring on her. A shallow hope.

 

“Des, I have to have a big girl conversation with you. Do you think you can listen really hard?”

 

The child nodded, but was too engrossed in her necklace to offer her any eye contact. Maybe it was better that way. Maybe Clarke would be spared from the tears. Another shallow hope.

 

“You know how uncle Jasper and uncle Monty sometimes go on trips for work?”

 

Desi nodded again.

 

Clarke took a deep and started once more. If she didn't do this now, she might never. But she had told Bellamy she would, had insisted on it. So here she was, forcing herself to continue. “And how…you miss them. But they always come back. No matter what, they always make it back home.”

 

“Yeah.” The child shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, unfazed. “They do.”

 

“Well,” she breathed. “I’m going on one of those trips. I’ll be gone for a while.”

 

That caught Desi’s attention, her eyes trailing upward to stare deeply, with an almost unsettling hint, at Clarke. She had a frown on her brow, like she was trying to decipher whether or not she was telling the truth. “How long?” she asked after deciding that she was.

 

Clarke chewed at her lip. Telling a child that they'd be leaving them for a year and a half was surely a big blow, but Desi was only young. Her concept of time wasn't developed fully. A year and a half would've seemed like a lifetime to the child. Hell, looking back at it, it seemed like a lifetime to Clarke. She needed to find a way to lessen it. Sugar coat it. “Before your next birthday, I’ll be back.”

 

“Daddy says my birthday is soon. Are you coming back soon?”

 

She sighed because no, she wasn’t. She had meant the birthday after that. “Not exactly, sweetie.”

 

“Oh.” Desi didn't seem sad per se, more like defeated and pensive. Her eyes trailed back to the necklace she was making, fingers simultaneously fiddling with one of the beads she had picked out just half an hour before. The child was deep in thought, that was clear to see.

 

“I’ll come and visit for Christmas,” Clarke announced, but it seemingly fell on deaf ears.

 

A tense atmosphere smothered them both, the silence somewhat ringing in Clarke’s ears. It was awful. Knowing that she was the cause of quieting a usually chatty child was heartbreaking. However, the severity of just how much the child had been affected was realised when a store worker came over and asked if everything was okay, and Desi announced in a small voice that she was finished. Done. The blissful afternoon was over.

 

Clarke finished up with her own necklace quickly after, not wanting to force the child into staying any longer than she had to. “You want to go home, Des?” Clarke asked her gently and when the child solemnly nodded, she accepted defeat. She knew it wasn't going to be easy, but it hurt none the less.

 

The blonde thought that maybe Desi was warming to the whole idea when she slipped her hand in Clarke’s when they left the building, but then she realised that Bellamy had taught her that. Safety always came first, especially living in the city. Halfway home, with Clarke trying and failing multiple times to start a conversation with the stubborn kid, the uncomfortable silence was finally broken by the signature sniffles of a crying child. Desi tried playing it off, tugging on Clarke’s hand when she stopped in her tracks, but in the end…she broke.

 

“You can’t leave,” Desi whimpered as she let Clarke lift her up into her arms, wrapping her legs tightly around her waist in an attempt to never let her go. “You promised.”

 

“I know,” she breathed, tangling her hand into the child’s curls, trying and failing to stop herself from tearing up. “I’m so, so sorry.”

 

“You lied.”

 

She did.

 

“It’s bad to lie.”

 

It was.

 

“Say something!”

 

She couldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. Life is hectic. And I’m tired. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!! :))


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